


heard your name in every love song

by angrylizardjacket (ephemeralstar)



Series: I'm Gonna Have Myself A Real Good Time [12]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) Actor RPF, Ready Player One (2018) RPF, Stranger Things RPF, X-Men RPF
Genre: Childhood Friends, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/M, actor!reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:34:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 72,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25646632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralstar/pseuds/angrylizardjacket
Summary: When you’re twelve and you have a crush on your babysitter, your parents think it’s puppy love, think it’s cute, and you’ll forget about it soon enough. When you’re fifteen, and your former babysitter’s on TV in one of the UK’s most successful soap operas, and is still decidedly hot, all you can remember is the advice he’d given you, and how he’d let you win when playing videogames. When you’re nineteen and you score a supporting role in an X-Men film, the last thing you’d expected was to be acting opposite your former babysitter, and - as it turns out - romancing his character; he’s still decidedly handsome, and you’re definitely not a little kid anymore. He doesn’t even recognize you, and you know what? You’re glad.
Relationships: Alexandra Shipp & Reader, Alexandra Shipp & Reader & Ben Hardy, Alexandra Shipp/Original Female Character(s), Ben Hardy/Reader, Joe Keery & Reader, Original Male Character(s)/Original Male Character(s), Reader & Original Character(s), Tye Sheridan & Reader
Series: I'm Gonna Have Myself A Real Good Time [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1225949
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Female!Reader. okay so the sprained ankle in Space Jump is a direct reference to something that happened in my theater class, that being a dude snapped his fucking femur playing Fruit Salad. RIP adam’s femur for the following few months. he’s fine now, that was like 8 years ago. whatever. are all these theater games i mention real? i’ll never tell. here’s part 1. DISCLAIMER: NO CREEPY SHIT I SWEAR TO GOD I WOULDN’T DO THAT; THERE’S A LITTLE BIT OF PINING FROM Y/N BUT THAT’S IT. there’s a few assumptions made abt Y/N’s life; only child, parents (plural, idk how many, doesn’t matter), plays Crash Bandicoot and Mario Kart, takes theater classes outside of school.

When you’re twelve, and almost at the end of your first year of high school, you get into a fight with your parents as to whether or not you still need a babysitter. Much to your chagrin, however, they don’t see twelve as ‘ _practically sixteen, which is practically an adult’_ and you sulk for the full three days leading up to the night they were going out. The night of, you’re fully intending on staying in your room, until there’s a knock at the door, and you hear a voice that is absolutely _not_ your usual babysitter.

“Be good,” your parents call to you as they’re leaving, having noticed where you’d cracked the door to your room to see who it was. You make a face at them, but you’re surprised to see a kid from Sixth Form on crutches, who is absolutely not Madeline, standing in the hallway awkwardly. You’re pretty sure you’ve seen him around school, maybe he’s on the soccer team? You’re not sure. 

“You’re not Maddy,” you tell him, opening the door a little wider, and he seems surprised for a moment to see you there. A kind, awkward smile appears on his face as he regards you with gentle amusement.

“Well spotted, I’m Ben, Maddy’s got the flu,” he explained easily, and offered his hand, “you’re Y/N, right?” And he’s trying so hard, but you’re still kind of mad at your parents for insisting on a babysitter in the first place.

“Who else would I be?” You asked flatly, which surprised a laugh from Ben, but you shook his hand anyways; you had to give him props for trying, “why are you using crutches?” You asked outright, since you’re pretty sure he wasn’t using crutches last time you saw him at school. You turned, heading for the living room, deciding to at least give him a chance.

“Sprained my ankle in class the other week,” he explained, hobbling along behind you.

“Sport or just P.E?” You asked, throwing yourself onto the sofa and picking up the TV remote. Ben was quiet for a long moment, and when you look at where he’s sitting gingerly on the edge of the sofa, he’s making a face like he doesn’t quite want to admit the truth.

“Theater sports,” he explained, which piqued your interest, which, of course, you try not to let show on your face, because if your babysitter knows you _already_ think he’s cool, you might die of embarrassment. But also, you suddenly feel incredibly validated for taking those theater classes every Thursday afternoon.

“They’re -” he tries to explain, but you give another eye roll.

“I _know_ what theater sports are,” you tell him, and his smile turns amused. 

“You do?” He asks, and you think he might be a little bit impressed, or perhaps it was just wishful thinking, either way, you nod firmly, “well I was in the middle of Space Jump - you know Space Jump, right? Where you start an activity and then someone else calls ‘Space Jump’ and you have to freeze and they have to make a new scene from your freeze, and then someone else comes in -” he explained, mostly to save you the embarrassment of admitting you didn’t know the game, “well I was up on one leg on a chair, climbing the rigging of a ship, you know how pirates do, and I froze, and -” he gestured how he’d fallen off the chair, with accompanying sound effects.

“Couldn’t you have just put your other foot down and balanced yourself?” You offered, and he shook his head, expression adamant.

“It’s all about the commitment to the bit; I was trying to entertain them, and the best way I can do that is to put myself out there one-hundred percent,” he told you sincerely, “you’ve always gotta follow through.”

“You sprained your ankle,” you pointed out, “isn’t that dangerous advice?” He deflates a little, looking down at his leg.

“Follow through but use your common sense, you’ve got common sense, don’t you?” He asked, giving a wry smile, two which you nodded diligently, “don’t get yourself hurt, then,” he suggests, before changing the subject quickly, “you hungry yet? Your parents said we could order pizza.” You’re easily excited by the thought of pizza, a rare treat your parents allowed you whenever you were babysat. 

It’s a pretty uneventful night, all things considered, you order pizza, and he lets you win at Crash Team Racing, and you’re falling asleep to a comedy movie until Ben gently suggests that you go to bed. You’re too tired to argue and try and weasel your way into staying up later, so you yawn loudly and wish him a good night before shuffling off to bed. The house is quiet, apart from where he’s watching a Top Gear rerun and waiting for your parents to get home.

You don’t think about it much beyond telling your parents ‘ _yeah, he’s pretty cool’_ when they ask. You don’t think about him much beyond that, at least not for almost a full week, until you’re sitting in your geography class just before lunch, having managed to snag a seat by the window looking out onto the back field, and there’s a PE class doing laps on the field. All are running, except the teacher, and a boy with blonde hair, standing with all his weight on one foot, and a pair of crutches tossed to the side, looking like he’s arguing the teacher.

“I heard when you’re in sixth form you get to push in the front of the line at the canteen,” you hear your friend, Merissa, next to you muse, and when you turn, she’s followed your gaze outside to the field. After a moment, you turn again, and watch the blonde attempt to put weight on his obviously injured foot; it looks like he regrets it, and he sits on the grass, sulking. 

“That’s probably Ben,” Merissa tells you matter-of-factly, “he’s on the football team with my brother.” And something about the kind of unwarranted pride in her voice at being _in the know_ makes your face scrunch up. Part of you wants to tell her that you know who Ben is, _obviously_ , but another part of you doesn’t want to admit to still needing a babysitter; it feels _childish_. So you keep your mouth shut and turn to back to the board.

And the following week, in your weekly theater class, you’re about to take your turn at _Bus Stop,_ wherein your goal is to make the other person on the ‘ _bus stop_ ’ as uncomfortable as possible until they finally leave, which is when you’ll assume the roll of the innocent bystander, and someone else from the class will come up and try and make _you_ uncomfortable. It’s a lesson on improvisation disguised as a game. 

The voice you’ve been practicing slightly pinches your vocal cords, and you’ve barely got a moment to assume a matching physicality, and you worry for a second that it’s not funny, that you’ll just look like an idiot -

_Put yourself out there one hundred percent._

You steel yourself, making strange shapes with your hands as you twist yourself into as much of a creature as possible, within reason, using the strange voice you’d concocted, feeling a thrill as your entrance gets the biggest laugh of the class. _Oh_.

A few months later, in the Summer after your first year of high school, you’re finally thirteen, and are allowed to have the house to yourself for the day, but if you’re parents are anticipating staying out later than midnight, you need -

“ _Please_ ,” you begged, “just don’t _say_ babysitter, I’m not a baby.”

“Fine,” they acquiesce, “you need _supervision_ , just if we’re out very late.” 

Despite your indignation at the situation, Maddy’s got a cello concert, and you’re _hoping_ that that means -

Ben greets you like a friend, wearing a denim jacket with no crutches, and he might be the coolest person you know.

“You still on Crash Team Racing?” He asks with raised eyebrows as he heads into the living room, and you roll your eyes.

“That’s _so_ old school,” you scoff, and he raises his hands in surrender, trying not to look as amused as he feels, watching as you pull out two Wii remotes, “Mario Kart’s much better.” And you hand him one. 

He’s not above letting you win, but it turns out, he doesn’t have to; you’re _scarily_ good at the game, which you credit to playing pretty much nothing else for a solid month, and by the time the pizza arrives, the win ratio is about fifty-fifty, and you’ve bonded considerably over your mutual and unreasonable hatred for Waluigi, the only NPC who seems to consistently beat you both.

“Do you get to push in the front of the line at the canteen?” You asked, holding your pizza in one hand and letting it cool for a moment.

“Huh?” Ben’s burnt the roof of his mouth, and is reaching for his drink when you ask, “whaddya mean?”

“My friend Merissa says Sixth Form gets to push in the front of the line.” 

“I don’t think we’re _technically_ allowed to,” he says after a moment of consideration, and you hear his nonverbal ‘ _but we still do’_ anyways, “it’s not a _rule_ rule, you know?”

“Are the A-levels hard?”

“Haven’t done ‘em yet,” he answers honestly, burping quietly after taking a drink, and you hum, and take a bite of pizza.

“I’m already scared of my GCSEs,” you admit after a moment of chewing, and Ben laughs gently.

“You’ve got nothing to be afraid of,” and he sounds like he means it, so you can’t help but believe it, soothed a little in your premature worrying. To be fair, Ben could say anything about school or life and you’d probably believe it; he was cool and older than you, but he treated you like a friend. 

You mention in passing that you’d gotten the lead for your class’s skit in the end of year showcase your theater company puts on, and mentions that it’s because you’d been _committing to the bit_ in class, and the pride in his voice when he congratulates you is something you end up thinking about for _days_.

He ends up babysitting you twice more that Summer, not that you were complaining. It meant you got pizza, and to hang out with the _coolest person you knew,_ a fact which you reiterated to your parents, much to their fond amusement, though you made them swear to never tell Ben that. He brought over _Super Smash Bros_ and you guys would play for hours.

The only problem was that Ben was _never_ allowed to know about the crush you had on him, because _everyone in the world_ knew it was weird to have a crush on your babysitter, and you’re pretty sure he has a girlfriend and -

 _Doesn’t matter_. You’re just started to discover the delightful world of crushes and relationships, and Merissa has a boyfriend on Tumblr, and you know that when you get back to school you can have a normal crush on a normal boy in your year, even if all the boys in your year look like _thumbs_. And Ben…

Is your babysitter. And a decent guy. And your friend, sort of. So you just hope he hasn’t noticed.

After Summer, he’s studying his A-levels, and Maddy’s got a day job so she can babysit at nights again, and it feels like everything’s gone back to normal, like you can breathe again. 

You’ve never really seen him at school; you don’t tend to hang around the back fields, but a few weeks into the first term, you’re having lunch with Merissa and Charlie, one of your other friends, in the library, when you spot him laden down with textbooks, making his way to one of the study rooms at the back. You’re not sure if he’ll even acknowledge you, even though your table is directly along the best route to the back rooms, so you just give him and smile and a nod in greeting.

“Hey, Y/N,” he grins quickly, doesn’t stop, but nods in return, and your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest. Charlie sinks her nails into your arm the moment he’s gone into the study room, and Merissa quietly screeches your name.

“Chill out,” you’re trying to keep a low profile, but both other thirteen year old girls are _demanding_ to know what just happened, “we’re friends.” You say with a shrug that’s far too casual.

“ _Friends_?!” Merissa demands, and you can feel yourself growing more flustered.

“We hung out a few times during summer,” you open your notebook in front of you, trying to distract yourself.

“You _hung out with Ben_? Y/N he’s _a football guy_ , he’s _so old,_ he’s like _eighteen_!”

“We’re _friends_ ,” you insist, “don’t be, like, creepy about it,” you snorted, and Charlie let out a pterodactyl-like noise. They drop it at your insistence, and you’re just glad they don’t ask you to elaborate. 

You don’t see Ben much after that anymore, he’s too busy with his A-levels to babysit, and when you’re fourteen, your parents agree that you don’t need a babysitter anymore. You’re more than happy to let your Summer crush fall to the wayside, and let your memories of Ben, like all good Summer memories, fade into blurry obscurity. 

You wouldn’t need to worry about seeing him again anyways, right?

 _Oh how wrong you were_.


	2. Chapter 2

When you’re fifteen, you have your first kiss on stage with a boy named Andrew; he’s a year older than you, has been in more shows than you, and has a boyfriend, Jamie, though they both seem entirely endeared by you. You buy each other flowers on opening night, after becoming fast friends in rehearsals. 

It’s your first lead role on stage, though you’ve been in a few commercials in past year, and had callbacks for a bit part in two different TV shows that ended up going to someone else. Since expressing interest in pursuing acting as a career, your parents had been nothing but supportive, their only stipulation that you still need to finish high school. So between school and auditions and rehearsals, you don’t have much time for crushes; sure there’s a boy in the ensemble, who you’re pretty sure is named Ashton, with fluffy blonde hair, and eyes that look green at the right angle, but he also lives off of Monster energy drink. He may be pretty, but he’s got the personality of a damp rock.

But _he’s_ not your first kiss, Andrew is.

“You know Ashton’s got three braincells in total, right?” Andrew’s laying on the floor of your dressing room, makeup done, costume half on, watching in the mirror as you apply your foundation, “what do you see in him?”

“Him-” you started, but Andrew groaned loudly.

“Himbos need to respect women, Y/N, Ashton is _not_ a himbo,” though at his exasperation, you can’t help but be amused.

“He’s _pretty_ ,” is all you can manage in your own defence, wearing a sheepish little smile, and Andrew wrinkles his nose. His phone goes off and he checks the message.

“Jamie’s almost here,” he told you with a slight smile, and you two share a fond smile. Jamie comes baring iced drinks and you both praise him as your lord and saviour. 

“Do you think Ashton’s cute?” Andrew asks as he’s eating the whipped cream from the top of his iced coffee.

“Is this a test?” Jamie replies, wearing the slightest frown, but Andrew shakes his head.

“Y/N thinks he’s cute, even though he’s always three beats behind -”

“Whether or not he can dance doesn’t effect how he looks!” You argued, and Andrew raised his nose in the air defiantly.

“It does to me,” but then he’s grinning, turning to gaze to Jamie, who’s deliberating and swirling his peach iced tea with a faintly fond smile.

“The blonde one playing the jock?” 

“That’s him,” Andrew confirms, and Jamie hums.

“He looks like acid wash jeans.”

A confused silence follows.

“What does that _mean_?” You frown, but as Andrew considers it, he comes to agree, “okay, but do you think he’s cute?”

“He’s perfectly conventionally attractive,” Jamie finally settles on, “but not my type.” And he gives Andrew a coy smile, knocking their shoulders together, they’re painfully endearing, but Jamie’s brought up a thought that you hadn’t wanted to consider. 

When had your type become pretty, blonde boys?

Your answer comes less than three days later, on closing night, your mother’s watching TV before she drives you to the theatre. It’s Eastenders, a soap opera you know from your mother’s fanaticism with it, aware only of it’s longevity and it’s sometimes outlandish moments.

“Y/N, come in here a moment,” you mother calls, “they’ve recast Peter.”

“You know I don’t know who that is,” you tell her with gentle exasperation, but obligingly join her in the living room.

“What was the name of your old babysitter?” You mother’s squinting at the screen, watching a pretty blonde boy you think you recognise talking to a girl who you’re pretty sure is one of the leads.

“Maddy?”

“No, the boy who helped out when Maddy wasn’t available,” and you follow your mother’s gaze to the television, heart beating in your throat as you realise why she’s asking.

“Ben -?” You say, as if you haven’t committed his name to your memory.

“Ben!” She announces with a clap, getting to her feet with enthusiasm, “doesn’t the new Peter look remarkably like him?” She asked, getting as close to the TV as possible, looking a little eerie in it’s glow.

“I think that _is_ him,” you say, throat going dry, and your mother goes quiet.

“No,” she says softly with a frown, “you think so? Really?” And you’re already pulling out your phone and checking IMDB.

“Ben Hardy,” you confirmed with a nod, trying not to let it show how much this information had left you shaken. 

“But -” your mother turns to you, “he’s Keith and Ange’s kid; Hardy? That’s not…?” 

“I dunno, mum, maybe he changed his name, but I’m pretty sure it’s the same person.”

“He was always such a lovely kid,” she mused, “you used to love spending time with him,” she sighed wistfully, and you contemplate how long it would take you to just walk to the theater, which you’d much prefer to having to listen to your mother waxing poetic about how successful your first crush had become. But you decide it’s not worth it, and thankfully she doesn’t mention it much in the car. 

“Andy I’m in distress,” you bemoan your costar the moment you step into hair and makeup that night. Andrew struggles not to smile as the makeup assistant is applying his contour. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks after she steps back, and you spin in your chair to face him while the head of the makeup team was collecting everything she’d need for your look.

“I know why I like Ashton,” you admitted, and Andrew raised an eyebrow in silent question. The makeup assistant paused, giving a playful ‘ _ooh_ ’ to the announcement. As the leads, the pair of you had been called early to make sure you were all ready for the show before the rush of ensemble members were getting into hair and makeup, so you were the only two cast members around, and felt safe discussing this so openly. The crew were old enough to know not to gossip with the cast.

“So it turns out my type is just this one dude who used to babysit me back when I was like, twelve,” you grumble, and turn back to face the mirror at the makeup artist’s insistence.

“And what made you realize this?” Andrew prompted diligently.

“Because I saw him on TV,” you sighed, closing your eyes as your makeup routine began. But there was silence all around, and someone cleared their throat awkwardly.

“Like on the news?” The makeup assistant asked tentatively.

“No, like on Eastenders,” you sighed; they weren’t quite sure if you were joking or not, “he went to my high school, graduated like two years ago.”

“Seriously?!” Andrew marveled, and you confirmed with a heavy sigh, “so why are you distressed?”

“Because I was perfectly happy forgetting about my stupid, twelve-year-old crush on him, but now he’s on my mum’s favourite soap,” and you groaned in defeat, “which _I’m_ now probably going to get invested in; it’s like a celebrity crush but _worse_.” You paused, “Andy, he let me win at videogames and gave me acting advice; I _still_ think about him sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Andrew agreed, “I don’t usually know my celebrity crushes _personally_ ,” it was clear he was both trying to be supportive, and trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it all. 

“It’s going to kill me,” you said with an air of resignation. 

“What’s his name?”

“Ben Hardy,” there was a pause after your words, and the telltale noise of typing on a phone, and then Andrew made a noise of approval.

“He’s mad fit.”

“I know,” you agreed with a whine, to which your costar snorted a laugh.

“You’ll be okay, I promise,” he assured, and clicked his phone off, settling back in his chair as his hat for the show was brought over and pinned in place, “and I can see why you fancy Ashton now.”

“Ashton doesn’t hold a _candle_ to Ben- _damn you Eastenders!”_ You moaned, playing up your distress for the amusement of the others in the room, which you appreciated, but it’s all you said on the topic for the night, though it barely leaves your mind when you’re not on stage.

At the afterparty, you learn that Ashton kisses with too much tongue, and tastes like grape vape, but he compliments your performance in the show and in the moment, that’s all you really care about. It’s a thoroughly underwhelming experience all in all, but it also manages to feel something like a cathartic release.

You come to a realization, several days later, that you’d never thought you’d have; it’s incredibly difficult to watch Eastenders online, legally or illegally it doesn’t matter, because the legal site costs money which you don’t want to spend, and no-one’s put up the entire series illegally. You can find episodes here and there, but they are one-offs from anywhere between 2005 and now, and no-one’s got the newest episodes anyways.

There’s barely an Eastenders fandom online, a thought you’d never imagine having before now, and so you just end up watching it nightly with you mother, when you can. Except as life gets busier and you’re rehearsing for plays and musicals and eventually, shows, and eventually you’re studying for your GSCEs, and you don’t have time for a soap opera you’re only partially invested in.

You get your big break in the Summer before your A-levels when you score a part in _Snowpiercer_ , so you spend several weeks in Prague, and you’re sharing scenes with _Captain Fucking America_ Chris Evans, and Jamie Bell, and Octavia Spencer –

 _Oh_ , you realize faintly as you’re getting your makeup done for the day, _I’m becoming someone_.

You’re at a critical juncture in your life, in your career, one you’re afraid you haven’t earned your way to, especially not so fast. You have two options; step on the breaks and let someone else get the roles and the life you want, or you can commit to the bit, to the life and reputation you’re building for yourself.

Fall back or follow through.

Snowpiercer earns you the title of _One to Watch_ , and by late 2014, you’re halfway through your final school year, you’ve studios asking you to audition left and right. In the brief Winter break between terms, you’re called in to audition for a project for Sony, but they couldn’t tell you which. You knew it was a superhero movie, but that’s all.

A month later, only a few days into 2015, you wake up to three missed calls from your agent, thousands of Twitter notifications, approximately twenty texts from your friends. Downstairs, your mother was making breakfast and humming along to the radio, which she only did when she was in a fantastic mood.

It takes all your self control to not look at social media, and instead call your agent back.

He’s got two words for you.

“ _X-Men Apocalypse_.”

You _scream_.

Next, of course, comes Twitter, which is a mix of supportive and unsurprisingly derisive. Your casting is polarizing, mainly because you haven’t been in a lot of films, and a majority of your work had been in theater; you look the part, but people are skeptical of your talent.

Speaking of the part, you’ll be playing Cassidy Temple, also known as _Riot Control_ , who it turns out is a villain. Not the main villain, they’ve got Oscar Isaac playing Apocalypse himself, and _holy shit_ , you’re going to be working with _Oscar Isaac_ , but apparently you’re the second of the _Horsemen_ to be announced.

Riot Control was a villain from an arc of the same name back in the late 90s, though she’d appeared earlier in Apocalypse’s first comic arc under the name _Crowd Control,_ most notable for being the original _Pestilence_ Horseman, who had a relationship with _Archangel,_ the then-Horseman of Death. After Apocalypse’s death, she retained the power he’d imbued her with, and went on to be the first mutant to fuse with a symbiote, _Riot,_ which is how she’d earned the name _Riot Control,_ and ended up killing Havok; it took the whole X-Men team to take her down, and only then thanks to Jean Grey.

You’d never considered yourself playing a villain, but you couldn’t help but be a little thrilled at the prospect. Looking at images of Cassidy, you can’t help but be a little shocked as to how much she looked like you, right down to the shape of her eyes; the resemblance was uncanny.

At least ten of the twenty texts you’d received from your friends were from Jamie and Andrew, cheering for you and already planning a party. A few friends from school were asking if the announcement was really about you, followed by a ton of excited emojis, and Merissa had left the sweetest voice message, telling you how proud she was of you.

This was _big_. This was talking with your mother about dropping out of school right before your A-levels, this was talking with Sony about hiring a tutor so you could finish your schooling on-set, this was updating your passport and visa and realizing you’re not just a little kid, playing pretend on stage anymore.

Over the next few days, you’re in meetings with your agent and executives from Sony and Marvel, signing contracts, and attending the kind of blow out party Jamie and Andrew had planned.

“Don’t forget us when you’re all famous,” Jamie, a little tipsy and sentimental, clings to you in the early hours of the morning during the party as it’s winding down, and you’re both half- _watching X-Men Origins: Wolverine_ in the living room of his and Andrew’s little flat.

“I won’t,” you assure him, hugging him tightly back, “I promise.” And he makes a hum of contentment, before announcing that the movie was stupid. It was, but you kind of liked it.

“Jam, don’t hog her!” Merissa announced from the door, and Jamie stuck his tongue out at her; it was a small blessing that your friends from your varying friend groups had managed to get along so well. Merissa crowded you from the other side, squeezing beside you on the sofa and leaning against you, her nose against your cheek.

“I’m gonna miss you guys,” you say into the warm silence of the early hours, and Merissa kisses your cheek in an unspoken _‘we’re gonna miss you too_ ’.

“Nah,” Jamie mused, “you’ll be off partying with your cool famous costar friends –“

“You gotta tell me what it’s like to hang out with _Sansa Stark!_ ” Merissa enthused, and your heart leapt into your throat.

“ _What_?”

“Yeah,” Jamie said, as if it were common knowledge, “they announced Sophie Turner was going to be playing a young Phoenix right around the time they announced you,” he paused, frowning, “did you not –“

“I read it, but I never… I didn’t put two and two together.” You admitted, and the news has you reeling.

A few moments later, Andrew comes in from the kitchen to remind Jamie that he has work in the morning, and Jamie tells him that he’ll only go to bed if Andrew takes his place hugging you until the movie’s over. Andrew’s smile widens.

“I think I can manage that,” he agrees, and Jamie stands with a yawn, giving Andrew a kiss before instructing him to not let go. You settle in between Andrew and Merissa, and once the movie’s over, Merissa’s asleep on your shoulder, and Andrew murmurs that he can drive you home if you want. The sun’s almost coming up.

“Can you put on _Days of Future Past_ again?” You ask quietly, sheepish and hopeful in equal measure, and Andrew agrees, and gets you a glass of water, and a blanket. When prompted, Merissa wakes enough so that she can shift on the surprisingly spacious sofa, happy enough to cuddle against you when Andrew tucks the blanket around you both.

“Can’t wait until I’m putting on your DVD –“

“I gave you a copy of Snowpiercer,” you told him, and his expression goes soft.

“True,” he agrees, “but I’ve got a good feeling about this next one,” and you think you know what he means. This is _big_.

“You’re gonna do great, Y/N, you always do.”

Just over a month later, after your contract had been finalized and you were sent the most up-to-date version of the script, you awoke again to a ton of Twitter notifications, and a single text from Andrew.

The text simply read [👀👀👀] and had a link to a _Variety_ article entitled ‘ _Ben Hardy joins the cast of Apocalypse_ ’.


	3. Chapter 3

[ _The Four Horsemen in X-Men Apocalypse have been confirmed to be Magneto, Storm, (Riot) Control, and Archangel._ ] Tweeted fandomwikia on April 9th, which was shortly followed by twitter user @cvssidyriots tweeting:

[ _sony execs really said ‘you can have a canon villain ship and we will make them hot as a treat’ and expected us humble bisexuals not to lose our minds???? @yourtwitter @benhardy0291_ ]

Since then, you’ve been thinking about this tweet about three times per day. On April 9th, the director of _Apocalypse_ confirmed that Ben would be playing Archangel, and you, in the private of your own home, with your bags already packed for Canada, lost any semblance of cool that you’d managed to cultivate.

Of course you’re aware, in a kind of vague capacity, that you have fans. Not a lot, since your work was mostly small parts, or in stage productions, but even then there’s gifs of you on tumblr, and you’re pretty sure you’re mentioned in the background of one or two Chris Evans fanfictions set on the set of Snowpiercer, not that you go out of your way to read them, but you’d never had _fans_ the way big name actors had.

But it’s only been two months since your role in Apocalypse had been announced, and there’s _fanart_ of _you_.

You’d sent Andrew the tweet, and his only response was to send you a link to Archive Of Our Own’s _Warren Worthington III | Archangel/Cassidy Temple | Riot Control_ tag, that already had over a hundred fics based on their comic iterations. The fandom calls them ArchRiot. You think you might scream.

When you arrived in Montreal, a few days after the announcement, you find that Marvel has sent a care package to your hotel room, which included a thick, meticulously bound copy of every single comic your character had ever been in. _Homework_. It’s both exciting and daunting in equal measure.

Your agent texts, asking if you’ve arrived safely, you tell him you have. A few moments later, you get a notification, a message on twitter from Alexandra Shipp. Verified account. Your fellow Horseman. She’s asking you if you want to come out to drinks tonight, with herself and the rest of the Horseman, and Oscar Isaac before the table read in a few days, and you’re quick to agree.

And then you realise what you’ve agreed to.

Michael Fassbender. Alexandra Shipp. Oscar Isaac. _Ben Hardy._

And in your mind, you’re still just some theatre kid from London.

So you try and focus on what you can control. You have a shower, you pick a nice outfit, not too nice, but something you wouldn’t mind getting photographed in. Idly you wonder if you’re going to have to start worrying about paparazzi, and it’s both horrifying and a little thrilling. You take your time getting ready, and even so you still have an hour before your meeting time. Google maps says it’s only a five minute walk from the hotel, and you’re pretty sure the production company has put you all in the same building, so you’re all going to be showing up at about the same time and –

Read comics. Breathe deeply. Remember you earned this.

Fifteen minutes before six, and you’re too antsy to continue. You’ve made it through a small number of the comics, but you’ve barely scratched the surface, and your nerves are making you itch. You look good, you note, making sure you look presentable when you leave, and as you make it to the elevator, someone calls out to you.

“Hey, Y/N, right? Can you hold the elevator?” It’s a warm, friendly voice, unfamiliar but not unkind, and when you look, you see Alexandra Shipp smiling at you, seemingly have the same idea as you.

“Yeah,” you smile, your tone bright, sticking a foot in the door to keep it from closing, “and you’re Alexandra, right?” And she nods and confirms as much, stepping into the elevator with you, stowing her phone in her purse. In well-fitted jeans and a chunky, brightly coloured sweater, she looks so effortlessly casual and cool, but her smile goes a long way to making you less intimidated.

You quietly remind yourself that you’re a professional, and that you’ve worked with ~~_Captain America_~~ Chris Evans, and you didn’t get starstruck then.

You make small talk about the flight, about how excited you both were for the film, about –

“Did you get a book with all your character’s comics?” You asked, and Alexandra laughed, nodding.

“I think you mean _small house_ ; I appreciate it, but I don’t even know if I’d have time to read the SparkNotes version,” she admitted, and you made a noise of sympathy; _Storm_ had a much broader character background than _Riot Control_ , it’s understandable there’d be more lore to cover.

“Are we meant to read all of it? I read through about three and a half comics before leaving, but that’s barely anything,” you muttered, and she shrugged helplessly.

“Maybe we should ask Michael, he’d know, right?” She suggest, and you couldn’t help but agree. Out of all of them, he’s the only one who’d already been a part of this franchise. Alexandra, as you’re walking down the street to the bar, gives you her phone number, and you give her yours in return, so you could keep in contact easier.

“Don’t want my messages buried under a stack of others in your Twitter DMs,” she said with a smirk, and you shook your head, trying to deny that that would happen, but she just gives a knowing little smile, “it will.” And it’s more of a promise than anything malevolent; it’s like she can tell you’re not ready for the fame you’re about to receive.

The bar itself was trendy and dimly lit, and after a few minutes of looking for a suitable table, you find Michael Fassbender and Oscar Isaac have already picked a spacious booth up the back, and are both making steady work of their own drinks. You and Alexandra order at the bar before you join them, both greeting you kindly. They were discussing the script in low voices and are quick to ingratiate you in the conversation.

“We’re diving right in,” Oscar says the moment you girls sit down, leaning in conspiratorially, eager little smile on his face, “which Horseman do you think you are, go –“ and he points at you.

“Riot Control?” You splutter at being put on the spot, and he shakes his head, but he’s smiling, and he corrects you gently, though you don’t feel condescended.

“No, like _you_ you, Y/N, if you were one of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse, not _of Apocalypse_ like the movie, who would you be? War, Famine, Pestilence, or Death?”

“Can we come back to me?” You asked after a moment, and he nods, and Michael graciously offers his own answer.

“We were just talking, and I think if I was a Horseman, it’d probably be War,” to which the rest of you agree easily.

“You know, I think I’m gonna have to go with War as well,” Alexandra agreed, “just something about my life, there always seems to be someone ready to square up, not with me, but like, around me, _for_ me? That’s what War is, right? As a Horseman?”

“That’s what I’ve found,” Michael offers his glass for her to cheers, and she does with a smile, before asking Oscar what his would be. He takes a long drink, squinting into the middle ground as he decided, before lowering his glass.

“Pestilence, but not in a bad way,” is all he says, and can’t quite seem to put into words what exactly he means, but you think you get it. After a moment to think, the others dubiously agree, but before they can turn to you, there’s a flurry of movement, and _there’s Ben_.

He’s taking off his jacket, apologising for being late, and your mind freezes for a moment; he looks just like he did on TV, and suddenly you’re back in your living room with your mum, eating dinner and watching Eastenders, or you’re back even further, playing Mario Kart in the Summer and eating pizza and terrified of thinking he’s handsome -

“Welcome!” Oscar announces, offering his hand to Ben as he slid into the booth right next to you.

“Y/N was just telling us which Horseman she’d be,” Alexandra said with a fond smile, before offering her hand and introducing herself.

“She’d be Riot Control, right?” Ben says with a confused little smile as he shakes her hand. After a moment, he turns to you. His gaze meets yours and gives a smile.

“No, like who we are as people, you know? Me and Michael are War, Oscar’s Pestilence,” Alexandra went around the table, introducing the other two, both of whom greeted Ben with smiles and handshakes of their own, before she gestured to you; you were still looking at Ben, as if waiting for him to realise, to remember, to see you for the child he’d last seen you as. But there’s nothing in his eyes when he looks back at you.

“And...?” He prompted, waiting for your answer. He offers his hand. You shake it.

You, starved, for touch for approval, for attention, for recognition, devouring every opportunity as it was presented to you under the pretence of _follow through_ , _commit to the bit_ , swallowing fear and misgivings as to not appear ungrateful. Desperate to fill your time, to fill the void inside of you that says you’ve never done anything if you’re not doing something _right now_ , even though the rational part of your brain says that’s not true. Aching to _be_ something, to be notice, you’re so hungry for the barest memory from the man next to you who you haven’t been able to.

“Famine.” You answer with a smile, “I think I’d be Famine.”

And they ask who he’d be, and you look back at the rest of the table, because you’re _not_ going to stare, and you hear him laugh, hear him say he’s going to get a beer before he answers, and feel him move. _Relax_ , you tell yourself, and you take another sip of your drink.

You work at compartmentalising, as if meeting Ben for the first time, smile at him like all the nerves were because of the movie; it comes as a relief, that as you all start discussing your characters, your nerves do ease.

Michael’s smile is fond as he assures you all that you don’t need to read every single comic, that the production team would send you a dossier on your character some time tonight, so you’d have time to go through it before the table read.

Beside you, in the booth that now feels crowded with all five of you in it, Ben is warm. His knee keeps knocking yours beneath the table. Soon enough, the talk turns from the movie to actually just getting to know one another, since you’d be spending a lot of time together on set.

“I actually loved your performance in _Snowpiercer_ , really fantastic job,” Oscar enthused without warning while you were halfway through a sip, and your mind screams _‘Thank you Commander Poe Dameron, sir!_ ’ as you choke on your drink, and Ben claps you on the back. Thankfully, your mouth replies with a humble thanks, as you use a napkin to wipe your lips, praising him in turn about Ex Machina, which earns a proud little smile in response.

You’re careful to avoid questions about where you grew up or went to school, you want to stave off Ben recognising you for as long as possible, if he hasn’t already, but you’re forthcoming about your acting experience, and the shows you’d been a part of. Your latest show before booking X-Men had been a professional production of _Antigone_ , in which you’d landed the titular role, and the show had a two-week run to rave reviews.

“ _She’s got a soul as raw as her father’s_ ,” Michael quotes raising his glass and indicating to you, and your face lights up as you finish the quote with him, cheersing him, “ _no sense of compromise_.” And in a weird way, you feel so _seen_.

The night goes on apace, all of you bonding as you grow tipsier, never getting _drunk_ , just getting warm and buzzed and happy.

“Do you know what’s happening with us?” Ben turns to you, arm slung over the back of the seat behind you, easy and casual and relaxed, and you’re smiling despite your confusion at the question.

“What do you mean?”

“Cassidy and Warren; I haven’t read anything in the script, but I have heard a thing or two about what’s meant to happen, have you got any ideas where they’re taking it?” He asked, and your eyes went wide.

“Oh, that whole thing,” you tried to play it cool, “not sure,” you answer, which is the truth, you’d read through the script but there was nothing that really hinted at the relationship between your character, in fact, before Apocalypse, you don’t know each other, “maybe it’s a subtext thing, depends on what the director wants I guess.” And Ben nods in perfectly pleasant agreement, but you could almost swear that for a beat before he turned back to the rest of the table, his gaze flicked to your lips.

The night draws to a close around midnight, when Oscar looks at his phone and tells them he’s got a costume fitting early the next morning, and you heave a sigh when you remember you do too. So together the five of your head back to your hotel. You, Alexandra, and Ben are all on the same floor, while Oscar and Michael are on one of the floors above. Alexandra’s room is first, and she yawns, claps you on the back when she gets to her door, and calls out that it was nice to meet you, a sentiment which you and Ben return in kind.

“It was really great to meet you too, Y/N,” Ben smiles at his door, and you pause, feeling weird hearing him say that, and you turn back, about to say the same, but he speaks again, “I don’t know, I feel like I know you.” For a moment, your mind stalls, but then you smile and laugh.

“One of those faces, I guess,” you shrug, trying desperately to play it cool, “or maybe you’ve seen me in something else,” you offer, “but it was great meeting you too. Should be a good movie.” Ben doesn’t think too hard about what you’ve said, just takes it at face value.

“’course it will be.”


	4. Chapter 4

You feel like death warmed up at the costume fitting the next day, not because you’re hung over, or even because you were out that late, but because it’s seven in the morning and you’ve been sitting still for two full hours already. You can’t begin to imagine how hard it would be to be Mystique, Nightcrawler, or Apocalypse, with all the body paint and prosthetics they all had to endure. As it was you were doing a screen test for your character’s ‘powers’ makeup.

Cassidy Temple’s power allowed her to create an exact duplicate of herself, same clothes, same hairstyle, the only difference was the way her eyes would be completely blacked out, the black markings around her eyes, like sharp, shiny scales that only served to lead into the darkness of her eyes, and the glowing red tattoos that covered the rest of her skin. The duplicate worked on Cassidy’s mental command, and when she was done with it, she could detonate it like a grenade, leaving no trace it ever existed. Cassidy felt everything the clone felt, though only psychologically, like a phantom limb, damage to the clone never physically damaged the original, and this included their explosions, though that had meant she’d built up an incredible pain tolerance, that had left her a formidable opponent. She was also capable of emitting a supersonic scream that incapacitated every human, and greatly bothered every mutant, within a hundred feet of herself or her clone. After meeting Apocalypse, the marking that indicate the clone are transferred to Cassidy permanently, and he takes away her ability to feel pain, instead giving her both rapid physical healing, and the ability to create almost limitless clones, though they seem to operate as a hive mind more than an individual with the more she creates.

But the point is, in your Horseman outfit, you’ve got a considerable amount of skin exposed that they’ll need to cover in bright red tattoos.

Oscar’s in the chair next to you, eyes closed as they’re patting on face paint over his prosthetics, you’re pretty sure he’s asleep. They’re playing music, but the chatter’s died down. Your scale prosthetics itch.

Someone comes in, introduces himself as Kodi and tells you all he’s playing Nightcrawler. You greet him warmly, and Oscar makes a noise that sounds like as close to a greeting as he can get without moving his face. The makeup person working on your tattoos tells him to take a seat and that someone will start priming him soon. There’s now only two people working on your makeup, the person doing your tattoos, and the woman doing the rest of your face, the contour, lipstick, and blush of it all around the large eye pieces. You done first, and after they’ve done a final coat of gloss on your scales, and everything’s dried, you pop in your contacts and are sent to wardrobe.

You’re ushered into a room by one of the stylists, and the other three Horsemen are already there, already mostly dressed, and sporting their own, albeit much more _downplayed_ Horseman makeup, and they all cheer when they see you.

“Terrifying!” Alexandra exclaims with glee, her hand on your shoulder, “I love it!”

Ben’s smiling in a way that makes your heart beat a little faster.

Someone hands you a costume and pushes you into curtained off area for privacy. It takes a bit to wiggle into, what with all the straps and belts, and various weapon holsters, and general lack of pants, but you get there without too much hassle.

When you step out of the changing area, not only are the Horsemen there, but the director is too, and all of them are quiet as they look at you, something awed in each of their gazes that has you unsure of what to say.

“Thoughts?” The stylist speaks for you, tone frank as she addresses the director.

“It’s honestly perfect, exactly what I was picturing,” he grins, gently nudging the other actors, “stand with her, I wanna see you all together.” And they do, with Ben and Alexandra by your sides, each taking a moment to wordlessly touch in with you, your arm, your shoulder, and Michael behind, in the space between you and Alexandra, the four of you doing your best to look in character and intimidating. The director grins wider, rubbing his hands together eagerly, asking if he could get a photo of the four of you.

As you pose, each making contact with at least one of the other Horsemen, you marvel at how the contact eased your nerves. Even as they move to change again, your nerves feel more settled.

“I definitely think we should go with the clone makeup for the posters,” you hear him say as you’re changing into one of the other costumes they’ve got lined up for you; the clothes you’ll be wearing when you meet Apocalypse. It’s still form-fitting and with more belts and holsters than any person rightly needs, but at least this outfit has pants and a jacket.

“Do you reckon I could borrow one of your belts?” You hear Ben say with a smile as you come out of the dressing area, and you want to reply with something witty, but he’s only wearing jeans and boots and is handsome as all hell.

“I think they’re sewn into my outfit,” you hear yourself respond as you look down at your clothes, the belts across your chest, your waist, your hips, one holding a small bag to your thigh, “but get me an unpicker and I’ll see what I can do –“ you look back at him in time to catch how his gaze had been slipping to admire your outfit, your body, and now he’s been blushing at being caught.

“You’ll do no such thing,” the stylist snapped, breaking the moment, before knocking on the side of Alexandra’s changing area, “how you going in there, sweetheart?”

“Just struggling with a zipper, can I get a hand?” And the stylist steps into her space, leaving you and Ben to yourselves.

“How much have you had to work out for this?” You can’t help but ask, and though it’s meant as a joke, you sort of regret it when his expression falls.

“A shit-ton, actually,” he admits, looking down at himself, pulling his jeans a little higher. You follow the movement with your eyes, “I’m going to the gym after the screen test.” And he looks back up at you, kind of unsure as to where to go from here.

“Well if you want to just hang out after,” the words are spilling from you, even though your mind is shouting to not overstep your boundaries, “I’m just going to have a quiet one, maybe try and read some of the comics, go through the script again; you know where I’m staying.” You offer with surprising ease, and Ben smiles, something grateful in his expression. After a moment, you call that Alexandra’s invited too, and she thanks you through a faint grunt, and then a cheer, as she and the stylist step out of the changing area.

The stylist lines the three of you up, scrutinising your outfits. When you ask after Michael, she tells you he’s got a few more outfits to try, and that he’s been moved to the next building over. It makes sense, he’s one of the returning stars.

You’re all ushered to the sound stage where they’ve got a green screen set up, and a skeleton camera crew all looking a little bored, but they jump into action at your arrival. It’s a blur of movement, and you’re more than happy to just follow orders, talking and joking around with Alexandra and Ben in the moments of down time. Finally, Michael joins you, followed by Oscar in his full makeup and costume, and you all cheer.

“Our lord and saviour has arrived!” You announced at the top of your lungs, and the other three Horseman echo the name _Apocalypse_ , and Oscar holds his hands up as if to conduct a choir, or sermon, and you all settle.

“My children, I have arrived,” he announced, as in-character as he can, voice heavy with gravitas, and you’re a little surprised at how awed you were. Once again, it’s hitting you that this is _the big time_. You’re in an X-Men movie with Oscar _Fucking_ Isaac.

The rest of the screen test goes by smoothly; at one point you all have to change into your Horsemen outfits, and you find you enjoy how powerful you all seem to feel as a team dressed like actual villains. The prosthetics stay on your face surprisingly well, but the contacts are making your eyes tired since you’d been wearing them for several hours.

“Lunch?” Alexandra points to you in question, smiling hopefully.

“Lemme just get my face off and I’m absolutely in,” you agreed, and she turned to the others; Oscar declined, since it would be taking him almost an hour and a half to get his costume and makeup off, and Ben cited that he’d be heading straight to the gym, while Michael agreed with a grin, and wondered aloud if any of the other cast members would be interested, just as the five of you left one sound stage, you saw a gaggle of other costumed people exiting the one next to you. You recognised Kodi immediately from his body paint, and suddenly your groups were converging, greeting each other and brimming with excitement.

It wasn’t all the X-Men, James McAvoy, Jennifer Lawrence, and Nicholas Hoult – _Charles, Mystique, and Beast_ – were absent, apparently they’d done theirs yesterday, along with a non-Horseman one for Michael, but most of the new mutants, the people playing Jean and Scott and Jubilee, and of course, Kurt, were there; Tye Sheridan, Sophie Turner, Lana Condor, and Kodi Smit-McPhee, as well as Evan Peters, playing Peter Maximoff in all his silver-wigged glory.

Quickly a lunch group was established for those who were interested, with the address being given to anyone who had to have prosthetics or wigs taken off, so they could still join but not feel like they were holding anyone up, and everyone moved quickly along to wardrobe.

By the time your eye pieces had been taken off and you’d scrubbed the remained of the makeup from your face, you can’t be bothered taking off your body paint, and the makeup lady who had been attending you assured you that it would be fine as long as you wore long pants and long sleeves, which was easy, it was still crisp in Spring.

Lunch was a quietly overwhelming affair, made moreso by the fact that you’d arrived late. You had waited for Kodi at his insistence, and the two of you shared an Uber to the restaurant where the rest of the cast who had made plans for lunch had gathered. You tried not to let your nerves show.

You laughed at jokes, and tried to answer questions without fumbling, and were as bright as you could be without coming off as _trying too hard_. Or maybe you were trying too hard. If you were, no-one seemed to notice, thankfully. Someone makes a reference that goes over your head, and they finally ask how old you are.

“Nineteen this year,” you answer a little awkwardly, and there’s a moment of silence before most of the table is _‘awww_ ’ing.

“You’re _a baby_ ,” Alexandra coos beside you, wrapping her arms around you, and despite your annoyance, there’s a moment in her embrace that feels familiar, that reminds you of Merissa back home, and how your new friends seemingly doted on you just as much. It was heartwarming.

“You’re only a few years older than me,” you huffed, playing at being annoyed, though you turn and press your nose to her cheek, leaning into her hug. Alexandra’s smile widened, and she said that didn’t matter. When she let go of you, Evan, on your other side, pinched your cheek, to which you slapped his hand away, but you were smiling.

At some point, someone asks a waiter to take a photo of the group of you; yourself, Evan, Alexandra, Sophie, Kodi, Lana, and Michael. The seven of you smile and crowd around the table; the camera clicks and there’s a tight feeling in your chest when Michael obligingly starts a group text for the full cast, and the first thing Lana sends is the photo.

[ _getting to know some of the newbies_ ] You can see Evan smiling as he types it out, and you yourself are smiling when you read it, and you save the photo to your phone.

Since it wasn’t the full cast, and you were all out of costume, you’re allowed to send it through to your _Most Trusted Advisors_ groupchat, which consisted of Jamie, Andrew, and Merissa, under pain of death not to spread it.

Merissa responds with [ _TELL METAL DAD I LOVE HIM_ ] and the two boys heart react the message. Andrew changes her nickname to it. You resolutely _will not_ be telling Michael anything of the sort, and you tell her that. She sad reacts.

[ _I’m seriously freaking out over this!!_ ] Jamie adds, following it up with a bunch of heart-related emojis.

[ _YOU MADE IT DUDE!! LOOK AT YOU GO!!_ ] Andrew sends, and with that, you turn your phone on silent and put it back in your pocket with a grin, joining back in with the conversation at the table.

After lunch, everything else kind of seems like a breeze, like you’ve gotten over the biggest hurdle which was _meeting_ everyone. With that out of the way, all that was left to do was your job, which you _loved_ , so when you got back to the hotel, you settled in to reread the character dossier you’d been sent the night before, and then get stuck into the comics and have a quiet night in.

You’re taking a break to absorb the information in the dossier and watch some TV when there comes a knock at the door. Opening the door, you’re left breathless at the sight of Ben leaning in the doorframe, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, and carrying his own set of comics. His hair’s still drying, curling at the ends, and he looks tired, but happy to see you.

“I’m not intruding, am I?”

“Not at all,” you quickly step back, out of his way, far too aware of your proximity and how he smells like some faintly scented soap. You’d kind of forgotten you’d invited him to hang out, but it’s a welcome surprise nonetheless.

“How was lunch?” He asked, sitting on the little sofa in your room, looking a little awkward and out of place. Suddenly you’re hit with a memory, seeing him sitting on the edge of your sofa in the living room of your childhood home, and you’re _twelve and you’ve never met him before but you already think he’s awesome_ –

“Lunch was,” you deliberate, looking away from him as you close the door, giving a smile after a moment to compose yourself, “good; maybe a little overwhelming, but that’s par for the course, I suppose.” And before he has time to respond to your rather strange response, you’re asking how the gym was.

“Same in every country,” he shrugs easily, and settles back into a more comfortable position, opening the comic in his lap. You mute the TV and settle yourself onto the bed, picking up where you’d left off with the comic the night before.

“Did they mention us in your dossier?” You finally bring yourself to ask as you’re reading through your character’s origin story. Ben looks up from his book, eyes wide and _so very green_ when his gaze meets yours. He blinks.

“Yeah,” he says slowly, “it’s essentially what we talked about, that it’s all implications and subtext,” his lips stretch into a grin and he regards you curiously, “I’ll be interested to see how you play her.” He admits.

“What do you mean?” You fluster, and Ben’s brow creases just a little.

“You don’t seem like a villain, like how Cassidy comes off in the comics, or the little that was mentioned in the dossier,” he explains, and your expression wrinkles into a frown at his implications, but he keeps talking, “’t said ‘ _Warren’s never been afraid of Cassidy, he’s always been in awe_ ’, I thought it was a bit poetic.”

“Everyone’s always afraid of her,” you explain, putting your comic to the side and picking up your character dossier, “no-one’s afraid of me, you’re right,” you conceded with an amused little smile, which he mirrored, though you didn’t see it, “but it’s so much easier to be afraid of someone with the power and drive and, I suppose, ruthlessness she has, than it is to see the strength in that power, so the way Warren reacts, it’s...” you shrugged, finally looking up to see the gentle admiration in his eyes as he listens to your analysis, “of course she loves him.” A moment passes. Then two. He’s still looking you in the eye, still smiling, and you’re worried he can hear your heart hammering against your ribs.

Ben looks down at his book, and then back up at you, blush rising in his cheeks as he clears his throat.

“Okay, so I’ve got a question – a genuine question, I promise – is it a threesome if the third person is your clone?”

And your laugh lights up the room.


	5. Chapter 5

When you get to the table read, interns are passing out the latest version of the script, and there’s place cards at each seat for all the cast and crew. Michael’s been separated from the other three Horsemen, and has a seat with the other main characters, while yourself, Ben, and Alexandra are a few seats away with the secondary X-Men. You’ve got Ben on one side and Alexandra on the other, but you’ve got your nose buried in your script, trying to find any changes, and feeling a little excited realising a new Horsemen scene had been added.

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N,” you announce when they get around to you in introductions, “I’m playing Cassidy Temple; _Control_.”

“I’m Alexandra Shipp and I am playing _Storm_ ; Ororo Monroe,” Alexandra tells the round table, and you nod along with everyone else. You’re trying to memorise everyone’s faces and names, feeling a little giddy to be seeing James McAvoy in person for the first time, as well as Lucas Till, who’d be playing Havok, the character you actually kill during the film. In the draft of the script you’d first received, it had been ambiguous, but the updated one sitting in front of you makes it explicitly clear that Cassidy’s the reason the Xavier Academy explodes, and Havok dies. Killing off a member of the _First Class_ was bound to make your character memorable, as well as hateable.

“We open on darkness,” the director reads, kicking off the table read with a smile.

“ _Mutants born with extraordinary abilities_ ,” James McAvoy reads, his voice heavy with the weight of his meaning, “ _and still, they are but children, yet stumbling in the dark, searching for darkness_.”

“Sand,” the director interjects, “we travel through the darkness seeing only this sand falling, before it becomes a desert, wind blowing the sand across the dunes.”

“ _A gift can often be a curse,_ ” James continues his narration, “ _give someone wings and they may fly too close to the sun_.”

Heart in your throat, you listen eagerly to the opening flashback revealing _Apocalypse_ ’s origins, before the script comes forward to the 1980s, to Germany, to the cage fight between Angel and Nightcrawler, to your introduction.

You’re scripted to step out of the car with Mystique, dressed in 80s glam with large, dark sunglasses.

“ _Let’s make this quick_ ,” Jennifer Lawrence growls in her trademark serious alto.

“In a moment, where there was one Cassidy, now there is two.” The director explains, reading the scene descriptors straight from the script. “The second Cassidy is identical, apart from the bright red tattoos on her visible skin.

“ _Yes, ma’am,”_ you smirk as you read. The scene continues with Cassidy and Mystique infiltrating the cage match, watching in horror as Angel and Nightcrawler fight in their electrified cage. The script makes note that your character is captivated by the sight of Angel. 

Mystique overloads the generator for the electric cage, and humans start shooting at the two captive mutants; your character’s clone snaps the neck of one -

“ _Cassidy, no!”_ It’s an order from Jennifer, one the director points out that you ignore, looking instead to Angel as your character’s original snaps another; Angel watches.

“ _Go!”_ You insist, and at the table, you give his shoulder an insistent nudge, listening and speaking as your character and Mystique get into a fight over how they don’t kill humans anymore.

“ _They were going to kill him_!” You snapped, voice harsh, but your character’s friendship with Mystique is clearly over. Instead of joining her as she and Nightcrawler abscond into the night, and the scene cuts as your character screams, incapacitating every human in the building.

You’re the last of the Horsemen to be changed into a Horseman in the script, and you listen with excitement as the story unfolds around you. Even at a table read, everyone was putting their all into the voice work and physicality, giving everyone a real sense of how the story would look. Both Storm and Angel’s transformations have you on the edge of your seat, eyes shining with excitement as you read along, listening to your new friends give life to the script, and Magneto’s, _oh_ , your heart ached for him as Apocalypse brought him to wreak havoc on Auschwitz.

It honestly feels like no time at all before -

“Crash-cut as we descend into the neon and grime of the Las Vegas skyline, along with the synthetic and heavy beat opening of Soft Cell’s _Tainted Love_ ,” the director reads, and you feel your heartbeat pick up, “as we descend past rough brick and power lines, we find ourselves in an alley, with a poster in the foreground for an anti-mutant rally dated _today - 1983_. A hand reaches out from the darkness – a hand with glowing red tattoos - and snatches the poster as we instead focus on the end of the alley where two figures – _Cassidy Temple and an Unnamed Human_ – are silhouetted going at it against the brick –“

“ _What’s a nice girl like you doing at a rally like this_?” The production assistant read, since the bit-part had yet to be cast.

“ _I could ask you the same thing_ ,” you read, looking up from your script to see the assistant grinning down at his script.

“ _Any chance to show those mutie freaks we’re not afraid, I’ll take_.”

“Cassidy does not like this answer,” the director reads, “and we see a figure behind the unnamed human, a figure covered in glowing tattoos, who’s reaching for the man’s neck – Cassidy and the figure make eye contact over his shoulder.”

“ _You should be_ ,” you hissed, putting your all into the words as you spoke them, and you hear Ben inhale sharply beside you, “ _we shall inherit the Earth_.”

“What follows is a struggle as Cassidy and the figure – revealed to be her clone – proceed to kill the man. When they’re finished, and the man’s dead on the ground, Cassidy straightens her outfit, and we hear –“ as the director reads, Michael begins to slowly clap, “a slow clap, and it’s revealed that Apocalypse, as well as Storm, Angel, and Magneto, had all witnessed the event.”

“ _We are the future, we are the ones who shall inherit the Earth_ ,” Michael reads as he stops clapping.

“ _Magneto_ ,” you breathe reverentially, and when you look to him, you and Michael share a sharp smile.

“The original Cassidy, the one without the tattoos,” the director reads, “takes off down the alleyway at a full sprint,” this garners a laugh from a few of the actors, yourself and the other Horsemen included, “while the clone stays frozen in place. Apocalypse gestures for Angel to go after the original, and he does.”

“ _They think we owe them our lives for merely existing,_ ” you read, voice surprisingly defiant, “ _I think it’s the other way around. What –“_

“We cut to see she’s posing the same question to Angel, who’s stopped her at the end of another alley,” the director interjects.

“- _do you want from me_?” You finish.

“Angel’s expression burns into Cassidy’s, they clearly recognize each other from Berlin, but we cut back to –“

“ _My child,_ ” Oscar Isaac announces with the rich voice he’d adopted at the start of the reading, “ _you are destined for greater things than this; you deserve to know the true extent of your power._ ”

“We cut back to Angel offering his hand to the original –“

“ _We’re taking what we deserve,_ ” beside you, Ben’s voice is low, his gaze flicking to meet yours, offering his hand, and you fight not to smile, “ _what we’re owed_.” You’re pretty sure the way he says it will play in your head on repeat until the day you die, his voice so alluring and insistent –

“Back with the clone, we see her considering the offer, stepping towards Apocalypse.” When the director speaks, your gaze snaps to him, and away from Ben, your heart racing in your chest.

“ _No more hiding,_ ” Michael read as Magneto, his voice soft and insistent, “ _no more suffering_.”

“Angel, carrying the original Cassidy –“ as the director speaks, you take Ben’s hand, “- descends into the scene beside the clone. Cassidy and the clone stand side by side.”

“ _Who are you, my child?_ ” Oscar asks.

“The original and the clone of Cassidy look at each other, and the clone disappears in a blast that has everyone but the original and Apocalypse bracing against it.“

“ _Cassidy Temple_.” You answer.

“ _No._ ” Michael says, and Ben gives your hand a squeeze. You probably don’t have to still be holding his hand, but to be fair, he’s not letting go either.

“ _Control_.” You tell him, voice cool and level.

“ _Control,_ ” Oscar muses for a moment, “ _you want them to fear you –_ “

“Apocalypse offers both his hands –“

“ _And they will, they all will_.”

“Without touching Cassidy, now _Control_ , Apocalypse bestows his power upon her;” the director reads to the excited table, “it’s clearly painful; Control contorts in a way that shouldn’t be possible, like she should be falling, but an endless waterfall of clones falls from her instead, disappearing in a puff of smoke before they hit the ground. The markings from that we saw on the clone, the blacked-out eyes, scales around the eyes, and glowing red tattoos, they are made permanent on the original. When she screams, we sound waves echo out from her, and we cut through a montage of shots of humans falling to the ground, covering their ears, the anti-mutant pride comes to a grinding halt.” You’re fluttering your fingers gently against the back of Ben’s hand with excitement. 

“ _You will bring the world to it’s knees_ ,” Oscar says.

“Control finally falls to the ground, the transformation complete; she’s breathing hard. Hands reach out and pick her up, hands covered in red tattoos. Clones; two, three, more, standing behind her, breathing hard and grinning; the start of an army. The original looks around at her clones, and in a moment they disappear. Apocalypse creates a portal, and as they disappear, we pull back to see bodies littering the ground, cars at a stand still in the middle of the road, a picture of devastation.”

You’re elated at how cool you thought your introductory scene was as you move onto the next scene was. As you move on, however, you seem to realise you’re kind of just holding his hand, and that feels... okay, you like the contact, but it feels _weird_. You let go and take a long drink of water.

There’s several more scenes that you’re in the background of with very few lines, and you’re mostly just content to sit back and enjoy the talented actors around you do what they do best. When the time comes, however, for the _explosion_ scene as you’d been referring to it in your head, you sit forward, despite your lack of lines.

Apocalypse materialises in the Xavier Academy right after Havok destroys Cerebro, and Magneto uses his powers to kidnap Professor X, and Havok retaliates.

“Havok runs to try and catch up with Charles, but is not fast enough, and fires off a plasma beam –“ the director reads, and it’s as if you could cut the tension in the room like a knife.

“ _Alex, no!_ ” Nicolas Hoult calls as Beast.

“We see one of Control’s clones step in front with arms spread wide to block the blast as Apocalypse teleports the Horsemen and Charles away,” the director reads, “there’s something biblical about the way Control poses, her head back; we see the Clone light up from the inside out, and explode.” He pauses, takes a deep breath, and looks around the room to see the rest of the cast and crew hanging on his every word, “We’re outside, we see Jean, Scott, Jubilee, and Kurt speeding down the road back to the school. Time freezes. Peter Maximoff has arrived.”

You know before the script read has even finished that Quicksilver’s introduction where he saves the school in suspended animation is going to be the best scene of the movie. And hell for the crew to film and edit.

The school explodes, Havok dies, and it’s all your character’s fault. You can’t help but grin in anticipation.

During the final fight, Control is said to stay out of the way, letting her clones fight for her beside Angel in the pyramid with Nightcrawler, brawling and desperate. Angel is tossed to the side in the fight and Control loses it, goes on the warpath, tearing into Nightcrawler before she’s incapacitated by a psychic attack from Jean. After Nightcrawler rescues Charles, the Control Clone helps Angel up, and they go after the escaping X-Men, infiltrating their warplane. Nightcrawler gets the X-Men to safety, and Angel and the clone are left in the crashing plane.

“The Control Clone, realising what this means for Angel,” the director read, looking up from his script to watch you and Ben as you shared a look, expressions both knowing and somber, “reaches out to him, but we cut to the explosion of the warplane. Elsewhere, Control screams, and falls to her knees. She does not get up and continue fighting.” Beneath the table, you reach over and rest your hand on Ben’s knee, and Alexandra takes your other hand.

“Holy shit,” Ben mumbled under his breath, his hand finding yours.

With Control incapacitated and Angel dead, the final confrontation with Apocalypse begins.

When the director announces the end of the film, you let out a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding, and clap and whistle along with the rest of the cast and crew. Control’s fate is left undecided, but you don’t care, just thrilled to even be here in the first place, possible plot holes be damned.

Overwhelmed and elated, you’re not quite sure where to go from here. You’re chattering away with Alexandra and Lana over the complimentary tea and coffee, full of adrenaline and excitement, when there comes a clap from the director.

“Okay, so I’ve sent out an email with a schedule for the rest of the day,” he announced to the room as a whole, “a few different cast meetings, then we’re going to be finalising the full production schedule tonight. Lunch is an hour, I want McAvoy and Fassbender back at one; everyone else, _check your email_.” He instructed with a cheery smile, and with that, you were all free to go.

Craft services is abuzz with chatter, with the cast coming together in little groups to talk about what they’re most excited for; Kodi’s excitedly talking about how he’s looking forward to the cage match when there comes a laugh by your side.

“Of course you’re looking forward to kicking my ass,” Ben grins, and Kodi flushes with the faintest embarrassment, but his eyes are still bright.

“What about you then?” Sophie’s asking, hip cocked and smile amused.

“Filming? I’m looking forward to getting metal wings,” he answers easily, “sitting in rafters, drinking vodka, and having superpowers? It’s a dream, isn’t it?” He snickers, and he’s standing _so close_ you can feel how he’s radiating warmth. “What about you, Y/N?” He asks, snapping you out of where you’d been stuck in your own head, knocking your shoulder with his.

“Probably the fight with Nightcrawler at the end,” you grinned back at him, before turning your smile upon Kodi, “I always enjoy a good bit of fight choreo, and it’ll probably include some flashy special effects,” you pause, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as you tried to stifle a laugh, “and there’s something addictive about acting angsty and heartbroken.” You admit, having discovered your talent for playing heartbroken and desperate after playing Juliet almost three years ago.

“I wonder what the stinger will be,” Tye’s mostly thinking out loud, but you can’t help but frown in confusion, “the after credits scene,” he explained, “like in Avengers; it’s usually to do with whatever the next movie is, so they probably haven’t written it yet.” He paused and shrugged, “I dunno, I’m just interested to see where it goes from here, you know?”

You hadn’t even considered the possibility that you could be in more than one X-Men movie, and now it’s all you can think about, the idea going around in circles in your mind, making you dizzy. Perhaps that’s why they’d left your character’s fate open-ended. _You’re part of a franchise now_.

You’ve got a meeting with the director and the rest of the Horsemen, as well as Oscar, at three, and then a fifteen minute meeting directly after that’s just for you and Ben, and you can’t help your nervous excitement.

The Horsemen meeting is easy, it’s discussing your initial thoughts on your characters, how you’ll have to get personal trainers, and how the director’s glad to see you’re already all getting along.

“The Horsemen are a _unit_ ,” he keeps saying, keeps insisting, and Michael, beside you, reaches out and rests a hand on both yours and Oscar’s shoulders, a movement you copy almost immediately until the six of you – the Horsemen, Oscar, and the director – are all huddled together in solidarity. The director gives you lists of things he recommends you watch, movement exercises, and lets you know what scenes are going to be rehearsed in the coming days.

And then he dismisses everyone.

Everyone but you and Ben.

“So you’re both going to be working with a fight choreographer starting next week,” the director starts, “alongside Kodi,” he deliberates for a moment, and beside you, Ben shift his weight from one foot to the other.

“So I’m sure you’ve heard rumours, and read things about your characters,” the director’s voice has taken on a tone you can’t quite identify, now I know it’s not made explicit in the script, but after seeing you guys today, and talking to Marvel –“ your eyes went wide at that, “- you know, it’s just something I want you guys to keep in mind,” he’s trying to be nonchalant, and you have to fight not to gesture for him to just get to the point, “you’re going to be playing it as a romance going forward.”

After he says this, he lets it hang in the air, and you and Ben share a look, an amused, partially unreadable smile.

“It’s kind of a tragic romance,” Ben says, breaking the silence, and you can’t help but agree.

“It’s important going forward,” the director insists, but won’t explain _why_. Despite the strangely ominous connotation of what he says, you shrug.

“Sure, we can play romance,” you agreed, and looked to Ben, who was nodding along easily. The director’s lips stretched into a pleased smile.

“Good, _awesome_ , well if you don’t have any questions for me, you’re free to go,” as you turned away, however, he added, “you guys have fantastic chemistry, I’m really looking forward to seeing what you bring to the table.”

The pair of you leave in a strange silence, not quite sure what to say to one another as you’re left to ruminate on the director’s words. The way he’d asked had been so _weird_ and _specific,_ especially give than you were playing secondary villains in an ensemble movie –

“What do you think he meant by all that _‘it’s important_ ’ stuff?” Ben asked, hands in his pockets, grinning at you. It takes a moment for you to come back to reality from where you’d been spacing out, considering the very same topic, but all you can answer with is a shrug and a noise of vague confusion, hoping it’s enough as an answer to amuse him. It is, he snorts a laugh and the reality of the situation settles upon you with startling clarity as you see him smile.

You’ve been hired to fall in love with him.

The only problem is that you’re pretty sure it’s not going to be an act.


	6. Chapter 6

Getting up at the crack of dawn almost every day for training always leaves you feeling like a ball of aching muscles and sweat. You warm up and cool down properly, of course, but it’s more strenuous than you’ve ever consistently exercised before. After your general strength training, you spend a few hours with the fight coordinator, Walter Garcia, learning how to get thrown around without too many bruises. You, Ben, and Kodi, as well as your respective stunt doubles had affectionately nicknamed these lessons _Fight Club_ , and as fun as it is, all three leave with bruises despite your best efforts.

And yet you still manage to make it to scene rehearsals after, _and_ put your all into it.

Alexandra becomes a friend and a confidant, and probably the only reason you’re not actively burning out, apart from Ben. It seems like you’re never alone when you eat, with one or the other, unless you’re with both, or the Horsemen and Apocalypse decide to hit the town together. It’s chaotic, but it’s a chance to unwind and relax. You’re becoming a unit, as formidable off-screen as on.

Whenever you reach out, there always seem to be someone reaching back for you, a hand to stabilise you, to make sure you don’t fall, a hand on your shoulder to remind you you’re doing a good job, a hand on your waist – _Ben’s hand on your waist_ , in a club, playing romance with no cameras around. _It’s just to build chemistry,_ you tell yourself, as his touch sets your soul on fire.

There’s something in his eyes when he watches you in rehearsals, something you can’t quite identify.

You pretend to snap a guy’s neck, and when you look up, for a split second you catch him looking at you like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You want so desperately to not get your hopes up, to convince yourself that he’s doing it for the film, but there’s _something_ there, you know it.

Well there _was_ something there.

Then you had to let it slip.

“Y/N,” Ben’s dressed like he’s just been somewhere, though you’re not sure where, looking all kinds of good in skinny jeans and a leather jacket. He greets you with a smile as you’re walking from Alexandra’s room to your own, wearing pyjamas; you, Alexandra, Sophia, and Lana had been having a self care night, which included wine and facemasks, but it had wound down almost an hour ago, and you and Alexandra had just been running lines together before you called it a night.

“What’s up?” You give pause by his door, leaning on the doorframe as he lets himself in and sits on the bed, pulling his shoes off. He seems at least tipsy, judging by how he’s fumbling with the laces, which matched your buzzed state rather nicely.

“Nothing,” he shrugged, but didn’t seem inclined to ask you to leave.

“Nice night?” Leaning against his open doorframe, you wear a slight smile. Ben’s honest and tipsy smile was easily one of your favourite sights in the world, and the way it was lighting up the room at present made your heart grow warm.

“Fantastic night; McAvoy is a absolute tank,” he told you easily, and with such sincerity it was almost funny, “that little Scottish bastard could drink me under the table if he had half a mind to, and I don’t say that lightly.”

“I bet you don’t,” you find yourself amused by his antics, and Ben stops with one shoe off to regard you curiously.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” you respond, hoping you mean it. He licked his lips; you stepped forward and closed the door softly behind you.

“How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Training. Fighting. Acting.” He said, and reached down to pull off his second shoe easily. He doesn’t break eye contact. “I feel like I’m constantly in over my head, and I’ve been doing this for years now.”

“TV’s different –“ you tried, voice soft, stepping forward.

“No shit it’s different,” it stings when he laughs without a trace of genuine humour, “I’ve spend three years on a soap opera; this is the first time I’ve actually felt like I’ve mattered, and I’m not even on set yet. I’ve had to look good and hit my marks to make editing as easy as possible. I feel like I’m out of my depth here, I’m not a super hero! And I look at you and- how does it come so easily to you?”

“I’m sorry,” it sounds weak when you say it, and finally he looks at you, eyes wide, the realisation of his own words sinking in.

“No, I’m not-“ he back peddles quickly, “don’t apologise, I just-“ and he stands, only tilts a little bit before he’s on his feet and wraps his arms around you, muttering apologies, “it was a shit thing to say, sorry, I’m not accusing you of anything.” He assured; you hug him back, struggling to process his words. The way he’d said them, so venomous, that was never meant to be directed at you like he’d meant it to himself, instead, you realise, you’re pretty sure he meant to _compliment_ you.

“At the table read, in rehearsals,” he goes on, letting go and head back to his bed, leaving you cold by the door, “you just- everything you say has _purpose_ , like,” he said a little straighter, wearing a slight frown, “ _we shall inherit the Earth_ ,” he tries to copy you, but it sounds strained, and he’s looking a little helpless when he looks back at you again, “you can call yourself _Control_ and I bloody believed you; I don’t understand how you do it.” And he flops onto his back on the bed.

Quiet stretches out between the two of you, and you come to sit gingerly on the edge of his bed, fidgeting as you try and form a coherent thought in the face of this revelation.

“I don’t...” you started quietly, looking at your hands, “all I know is that when I was younger, someone I... someone I idolised gave me some advice; he told me to follow through, to commit to the bit, and... and I suppose that I’ve taken that I mean that I believe what I’m saying. It’s not method acting, not entirely, but I find some way to relate what I’m saying as a character, to a moment or truth from my actual life, and I speak that truth when I say the lines, commit to what you’re saying. I never let myself doubt in my words on stage,” you paused, “or on screen,” though after a beat your expression soured and you finally looked at him, “if that makes sense; I don’t wanna tell you how to do your job, I know you’re a good actor.”

Slowly, he looks at you, frowning. Then the words process, your faint smile processes. His eyes go wide.

“I’m really not –“ he tries to be humble, but you won’t hear it.

“Oh shut it, you’ve been a fantastic actor since high school, don’t act like –“

“How do you know what I was like in high school?” His voice is ice cold, and it’s like the temperature of the room has dropped ten degrees. It’s hard not to shiver. “You don’t,” he said, venomously, though it’s followed by a worried, doubtful, “do you?”

“Ben –“ you throat’s gone dry. When you finally turn to look at him, he’s sitting bolt upright, looking at you like he’s almost afraid.

“No, why would you say something like that, that’s _weird_.”

“We went to the same high school,” you force yourself to speak, and he scoffs loudly.

“I fucking doubt it –“

“The Gryphon School. Sherborne.” You paused, looking down at your hands, “I was meant to graduate this year.”

“ _What the fuck_.” He breathes, eyes wide. “I can’t – if you’re actually a psycho stalker –“

“I’m _not_ , for fuck’s sake,” you sigh, head in your hands.

“You need to leave,” Ben’s voice is tight and you can’t bring yourself to look at him when you stand, agreeing. It feels like the wrong choice of a choose-your-own-adventure novel, and you can barely sleep for fear of what the morning’s rehearsals will bring.

What it brings is _strangeness_. It brings disconnect and a week of Ben being decidedly _weird_ , not that you blame him. He’s doing _okay_ at acting like he’s okay around everyone else, but he barely talks to you, barely touches you, it’s a far cry from the closeness you’d shared a week ago.

Now it’s Friday evening, and the last bout of fight training before filming starts on Monday. Training will continue, of course, but it feels weirdly final, like the whole night exists in that moment before you jump off a diving board.

Ben and Kodi’s first fight was more like a dance, all threat and no contact, at least not outside of special effects. The second fight, however, in the pyramid, is slick and dangerous, and the stunt men like to show off as Ben and Kodi practice as well as they can. _Your_ fight with Kodi, however, was a carefully choreographed brawl, where your character refuses to let go of him, getting punched in the face and biting and fighting back with desperation.

“Get up,” your stunt double, Ana, looks _eerily_ like you, which is mostly the point, but it’s still strange when she’s sitting on your hips. You struggle feebly, but she doesn’t seem satisfied – “ _get up_.” She demands again. It’s training, and it’s what you’re meant to do, but you know what she’s asking. You can’t bring yourself to grapple with her.

“Kodi, come over here,” Ana finally relents with exasperation. Kodi’s sweet and awkward as he trots over. You prop yourself up on your elbows, giving what you hope is a reassuring smile. “Y/N, you’re gonna grapple with him, you’re gonna flip him over in less than a minute, or you’re gonna do fifty push ups.” Ana tells you simply, and you whine with faux annoyance; Ana gestures to you insistently, “go on Kodi; if she flips you, you’re ass is the one doing all the push ups. Use what we’ve been teaching you so far, okay?”

“I believe in you,” Ben half laughs from the sidelines, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes when his gaze meets yours.

“Who are you saying that to?” Kodi asks as he gently straddles, sitting on your hips.

“Whoever wins,” Ben shrugs in response, breaking eye contact and looking away where he’s standing with his own stunt double, arms crossed, watching Kodi now with amusement. You flip him off and pretend like the idea of his praise doesn’t make you want to work harder.

“Okay,” Ana nods, before calling start. You and Kodi both take a moment to apologise to one another before you begin, but the threat of push ups must have gotten to your fellow actor, because he’s got your wrists pinned and an intense fire in his eyes. You set your teeth on edge and don’t hold back, shifting your hips up until you’re able to lift one leg up, your heel against his chest, pushing all your strength into that one leg, pushing him back.

He’s on your other leg, pinned between them, and you sit, twisting until your knee is on his chest, and his hands are scrambling for purchase, gripping at your legs until you grab his hands, first one than the other, pinning them either side of his body as you manoeuvre to sit on his thighs.

“ _Damn_ ,” Kodi’s smile is good natured, despite his defeat and breathlessness, and in a moment you’re sitting back, letting go and getting up, graciously apologising again and dusting yourself off. Instead of getting up, Kodi turns with resignation, already starting his push ups.

“I’m glad she’s on my side,” Ben’s eyes are shining when he looks at you. You can’t help your pleased smile, flourishing under his genuine praise, but he quickly looks away.

“Okay, your turn,” Ana seemed to have different ideas, pointing at Ben, and then the floor in front of you. His own stunt double pushed him forwards with a smirk, “if you can’t flip Y/N, it’s a hundred push ups.”

“A hundred?” He went wide-eyed.

“Does that mean I have to do a hundred if he flips me?” You ask dubiously, heartbeat already erratic in your chest, and Ana turned with a sharp smile.

“Nah, fifty for you, ‘cos I like you.”

“Hey!” Ben protested, but he was already sitting down on the mat. Kodi was up to twelve. “You’re just biased ‘cos you’re a narcissist.” Ben accused Ana with an eye roll, and Ana made a thoughtful face.

“Y/N and I _are_ cute, thank you, Ben,” she agreed with a cheeky smile, and Ben quickly went red, head falling back against the mat as he clearly tried and failed to will his blush away. “Go on,” Ana urged, giving him no break as she pushed you towards him.

“Don’t go easy on me,” you warned, standing over him. He’s still a little pink around the ears, rolling his eyes but avoiding looking directly at you. Something about this encounter is different; he’s being _weird_ , but it’s neither strained nor oddly hostile.

“Do I look like I wanna do a hundred push ups?” He answered, and you sank to your knees, sitting squarely on his thighs.

“I – believe – in – you –“ Kodi huffs as he keeps working away at his push ups.

“Which one?” Ben asked wryly, and Kodi pauses, drops onto his stomach, taking a break, a breather, and shooting him a smile that’s all teeth.

“Y/N, obviously.” And he picks up where he left off.

You reach out slowly, moving to hold Ben’s hands to the mat by his head in the starting position, gently at first, then when Ana calls start, you’re pushing. For a moment, all he does is watch your face with a strange intensity, like he’s searching for something, like he finds something in the way your eyes burn with focus. But then he sits up, into your space, and with your weight on his thighs and not on his hips, it’s easy. You find yourself sitting back suddenly to avoid having him smack into you.

“This is why he sat on your hips,” Ben said, all smug and confident, but you’re not impressed. You take your leg from where it had been partially kneeling by his side, and bring your foot up to his chest, pushing him back on the mat, knocking the wind out of him, and you move to sit your weight on his hips, while moving your leg to press you knee to his chest. Leaning in, even with all the warm ups and work outs you’ve done today, you still feel the stretch in your hamstring, but it’s worth it to get as close to him as possible while he’s still pinned, you knee being the only thing that’s keeping your chests apart.

“Don’t be smart,” you warned him, pinning his hands firmer, almost nose to nose now.

“Thirty seconds,” Ana called.

Ben grinned. He wrenched one of his hands free from your grip, and held your leg in place between the two of you as he pushed off with his other trapped hand, rolling your both. Now you’re trapped by your own leg, with Ben’s weight on your other thigh. All that’s left is your free hand, as if trying to stave off your inevitable defeat, but he catches that, and suddenly both your hands are above your head and you feel as though the wind’s been knocked out of you.

He’s _smiling_. Smirking, actually, almost nose to nose, his eyes roaming your face as he seems to be drinking in your surprised expression. He can probably feel you practically on the edge of cardiac arrest – _he’s so warm_. Something’s changed. Whatever had been there before between you two is back tenfold. _He’s_ flushed, all pink around the ears and pupils dilated.

“Get off the poor girl, Ben, let her do her push ups in peace,” Ana warned, and you realise that no-one else can see the way he’s looking at you, “go hit the showers.” Ana advised, and as Ben sat back and stood up, he was careful not to let his gaze linger on where you were laying breathless and suddenly flustered on the crash mats.

It’s with great disappointment that you roll yourself over and complete your fifty push ups.

“You guys wanna go for a bite to eat? I’m starving,” Ben offers as you and Kodi were leaving the gym’s change rooms. You narrowed your eyes; Kodi had already mentioned having plans that night, and he reiterates that only moments later. “Oh well, okay then, have a good night man,” Ben smiles good-naturedly at him before turning a _perfectly fucking harmless_ smile on you, “what about you, Y/N? Food?” You swallow hard before smiling wide.

“Would love to,” you agreed. Ben gives a weirdly jaunty nod, and slings an arm around you, and the contact _burns_. Kodi takes the first of the cars the production team sends to pick you all up, waving and going to meet with the others playing the teen X-Men. The moment his car turns the corner, Ben steps up to you and kisses you.

It’s desperate and frantic, an energy you match, biting his lip and lacing your fingers through his hair. His nails are digging into you where he’s pulling you closer, his hands already finding their way beneath your shirt.

“Mr Hardy? Ms Y/L/N?” A very nervous and tentative driver calls your names as he pulls up in the telltale all black company car. You break for a moment, opening the door with shaking hands and tumbling into the back, “where to?” The driver’s voice is an octave higher than it should be as he desperately focuses on the road, and not the soft whimper you can’t contain.

“The hotel, please,” Ben’s voice is surprisingly level, and as soon as the address is given, the driver slides up the partition, which you’re thankful for. You’re all over each other, messy and desperate in the back seat; you’re practically in his lap with your teeth on his neck and it takes him a moment of fumbling fingers to remember that sports bras don’t usually have clasps.

“What made you change your mind?” You ask, and Ben leans back with a grin.

“I realised that either you’re the most dedicated stalker in the _world_ to get cast alongside me, and in that case, I think I have to respect the grind,” he grinned, though it makes you giggle, “ _or_ , high school doesn’t fucking matter anymore because we’re _adults_.” He paused, tipped his head to the side for a moment to watch you with a surprisingly tender expression, taking your face in his hands, “though it’s cute you thought I was a good actor back then, I couldn’t act my way out of a paper bag.”

You roll your eyes and kiss him to shut him up.


	7. Chapter 7

Fooling around feels like far too light of a phrase for what you and Ben are doing considering the teeth marks on his shoulder that earned him a raised eyebrow from the wardrobe assistant on your first day of filming. You’re very carefully schooling your expression into something innocent, which is actually rather easy with all your facial prosthetics and contact lenses, as another assistant is fiddling with the neckline of your dress, using fashion tape to get it to stay in place.

“Fun night?” You ask innocently when he makes eye contact with you over her shoulder.

“Can’t complain,” his lips twist into something wry and halfway amused as he looks away quickly. You’ll apologise later, but for now it’s better to play dumb regarding the whole situation. 

You’re running through your fight choreography with the stunt men while they’re rigging Ben into his harness; he’d been up there before during rehearsals, but now, in full costume and hair, with all the lighting and extras around, it felt like everything was finally coming together. On the ground, you’re still ducking and weaving, stepping through movement sequences, speaking through your lines as you do, though occasionally look up to see him moving through the air in the cage, and you’re a little awed.

The grimy, fight-club style cage they’ve built is terrifyingly detailed, and you’re already in awe of the production. There’s extras milling around, and every so often a crew member comes over and applies more hairspray or powders your nose. You and Jennifer run through your lines and hype each other up as you’re waiting for the director to give Kodi and Ben notes. Soon enough, you’re ushered outside to the waiting car, from which you’d step out from. After a brief word with the director, he calls action.

Everything had to be filmed twice; once with you in prosthetics, acting as the clone, and a second time with the prosthetics removed, as the original. It was tedious at times, but the end result would be easier and better than simply adding the prosthetics digitally, and you’re pretty sure the digital effects team already had enough going on.

So you went through with the scene as the clone, watching, quiet and intense, letting yourself simmer in the moments when you can watch Ben perform. The lights make him glow, ethereal, as he tells Nightcrawler that if they don’t fight, they’ll both be killed. They’re adding his wings in post, but even so, he’s a force to be reckoned with. 

And then the cage is overloaded, and the fighting begins, and your stunt double acts as your original’s stand-in, when she’s not the one fighting that is. 

When you leave during the afternoon to have your makeup changed over, they rig up Ben’s stunt double to keep things moving, filming the fight with the Angel and Nightcrawler doubles in your absence, and when you return, Ben’s standing with Ana, your stunt double, both with their arms crossed, marveling at airborne fight. 

“Tell me I look at least half as cool up there,” Ben groans almost wistfully as you join them, standing beside him, and his eyes are bright, watching his stunt double move like a particularly vicious Peter Pan.

“When you’re not flailing wildly,” Ana tells him dryly, and Ben’s whole physicality changes, like a disgruntled cat he puffs out his chest.

“I do _not_ flail -”

“I like your hair like this,” you tell him, interrupting his indignance, tugging at one of his curls, still with hairspray, “you look like you should be in The Police.” 

“The band?” Ben gives you a calculating look, and you nod, grinning. Ana starts singing _Roxanne_ under her breath, “I’ve been told worse.” Ben shrugs, gives a smile, and shifts his weight subtly, enough to lean gently against you. “You look like a gogo dancer.” He adds.

“Thank you,” you say airily, wearing a pleased smile.

“You get to keep that dress?” Ben asks casually, watching you out of the corner of his eye, smirking.

“Don’t think so,” you play along.

“Disappointing,” he shakes his head, grinning despite himself, and you’re struggling not to laugh. When you turn to him, however, Ana on the other side is watching the pair of you with raised eyebrows. 

“We’ve been told that we’ve gotta play romance,” you say by way of explanation, and realization filters across her face, as if a lot of things are starting to make sense. Ben’s keeping _very_ quiet between you both. Someone else calls her away before she can say anything, and Ben clears his throat in a way that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. 

“Wait, you really like this dress?” You asked after a moment, and Ben gives you a very pointed look over, turning pink around the ears, and then a single, solid nod, as if he doesn’t quite want to admit it out loud, then he looks back to the stunt fighters. 

And then the whole scene is resetting; you’re being ushered back outside with Jennifer, and the director is giving notes and you’re fighting to get back into character. There’s time enough, Ben’s still got to get back into the flight rig, and Kodi’s makeup is getting touched up again. 

“ _Let’s make this quick,”_ Jennifer growls as you walk with purpose, and you let yourself smirk, steal a glance at her from beneath your sunglasses.

“ _Yes, ma’am,”_ it’s your first actual line of the day, since the clone had no lines in this scene, and you’re elated. You do a few more takes, feeling yourself sink further into your character with each moment that passes that had started when you were playing the clone, but now you truly got to _feel_ it. 

And then you’re watching the fight, which the clone hadn’t been able to do, since you’d been trying to move through the crowd to get the best vantage point, but _now_ you watch the fight. Ben flies through the air and Kodi moves around the space, and it’s beautiful and chaotic and Ben’s yelling as Angel for him to fight, or the humans will kill them both. There’s an instinctual anger you know your character feels hearing these words, and you let yourself feel it, already not wanting to see _Angel_ either of them hurt.

“Okay, reset, we’re gonna do those few lines again, but -” the director calls, “can we get a close up on her this time too?” And when you look over, you see that he’s pointing at you, “keep doing what you’re doing with your face.” He gives you a thumbs up and your eyes go wide as you awkwardly return the gesture, and step back into the crowd.

Looking up, Ben’s sitting on a beam in the cage, grinning down at you. 

The scene resets.

There’s a camera close to you this time, catching every minute change in expression, but it’s easy to forget about it, focus on being in the world the crew has created, and when you watch the fight, all you can focus on is Ben. 

Then all hell breaks loose; Mystique overloads the electric cage, shutting it off, and your character starts taking out the humans with guns. 

“Cut, reset, again,” the director calls over and over again; new notes, a new delivery, a new camera set up, a new way to light the shot. 

“ _Cassidy, no!”_ Jennifer’s voice is rough from how often she’s called this line, and again, you ignore her and pretend to snap the neck of the well trained stunt man you’d been grappling. You look up at Ben; this time there’s a camera man on a cherry picker beside him. Something about knowing they’re getting his close up reaction has you feeling electric.

“ _Go_ ,” you tell him, tone demanding and reassuring at once. _Go_ , your character wants to tell him, _I’ll see you again_.

Ben pauses, and you can’t properly read his expression from here, but something about it feels different. Then, the barest nod, _I know_ , and he’s ripping open the cage.

The scene continues, and then resets. 

You break for dinner, after a full day of filming, with only the final few moments to capture in the scene. It feels good to be back in street clothes, not that the dress wasn’t cute, it’s just that you weren’t allowed to eat in it, and it was beginning to itch. 

You’re the first one into wardrobe, and the only crew member in there is asking if you’d be alright on your own for a moment while she’s called in to help some of the extras. 

You’re struggling with the zip on the back of the dress when there comes a gentle knock.

“I’ve gotta change before we break,” it’s Ben, and you peer out from the changing area, giving a smile.

“It’s just me in here, everyone else is helping with extras; could you do me a favor?” 

“Depends, what is it?” But he’s already making his way to you, and you pull back the curtain, turning and showing him the problem. He nods quickly, stepping up to you and pulling down the zip of the dress, past the point where it had gotten stuck for you.

There’s a moment, a pause, his hands find your hips and your breath catches in your throat. When you turn, you know there’s surprise written all over your face – _we can do this? Here?_ But he doesn’t move, and you realise he’s waiting for you to make the first move. So you do, leaning in and kissing him hard, your hands beneath his leather jacket, fingers ghosting up his warm back and pulling him closer. With one hand, he slides the curtain closed, and then he’s stepping you back in the small space, pressing you against the wall of the changing room, kissing you hard and desperate.

The dress is falling off your shoulder, so you let go of him and let the dress fall to the floor in an unceremonious heap, leaving only the fashion tape sitting stiff and tacky on your chest. You bring your arms up around his neck as his nails graze up your bare thighs. You try to get your fingers through his hair, but there’s so much product in it that it’s kind of like steel wool, and you can’t help but break away, giggling as you play with the hairs at the nape of his neck. Ben’s grin is gentle, and surprisingly fond when he sees your smile, and for a beat he rests his forehead against yours, your fingers soft and deliberate against the back of his neck. When he touches you, when his fingers trace up your sides, along your arms and shoulders, when he takes your face in his hands, there’s a reverence about his movement –

“Y/N, are you still in here?” The costume assistant calls, the door to the room opening with a squeak. You and Ben freeze.

“Yeah, just a minute,” you call; there’s a strange mix of amusement and panic in Ben’s eyes.

“Has Ben come through here?” She calls back, and Ben steps back, lips pressed into a thin line, watching as you scooped up your dress.

“Not that I’ve seen,” you call back hurridly. Before you leave the changing area, however, you glace at Ben and notice the lipstick staining his mouth. Your frantic gesturing to him seems to get the point across, because the last thing you see before you leave the changing area, pulling the curtain swiftly closed behind yourself, is Ben scrubbing his mouth with the back of his hand. Thankfully, the wardrobe assistant is in the back when you come out, which gives you enough time to wipe the remainder of your own smudged lipstick away.

“Thank you,” she smiles at you and takes the dress, “you’re clothes are just in the back, wait here and I’ll grab them for you.” And with that, she’s off, unfazed by the sight of you in your underwear. Ben flees while she’s in the other room, and waits until you’ve gotten changed to step back inside.

It’s quarter past eleven when they get to the final scene; extras all around, and all that’s left is for you to scream. There’s an overhead camera, a cherry picker up by the rafters with a bored looking camera man pointing his camera straight at you. There’s at least three cameras at other angles all around, and extras looking tired, apart from the ones on the ground playing dead, who possibly are asleep.

“Just go for it,” the director enthuses, “we’ve got honey and lemon tea, and lozenges, and water, on standby; just go as loud and as long as possible.”

“Am I distressed, am I angry -?” You ask, and the director considers for a moment.

“It’s the moment you can take out all your frustrations at once; Mystique’s fucked off, so now you don’t have to pretend to play nice.”

Everyone’s eyes are on you, and the rest of the room is silent as a grave once they’re all set up, waiting for the director. For a moment, you’re concerned, that if you go hard, you’ll go too hard and it’ not what they’re looking for and that it’ll be too much.

_Go for it_ , the director’s voice whispers in your mind.

_Commit to the bit_ , you think you hear Ben’s voice too.

It’s the moment you’re seen as a force to be reckoned with. The director calls _action;_ you _scream_.

In that instant, you put all your fear and uncertainty into the moment, into the sound, into your performance. In your mind, you see everyone who’s ever turned their nose up at you, dismissed you, written you off; _look at me now_ is what your scream tells them. You want this one moment to make them regret _ever_ doubting you. Around you, you’re vaguely aware of the extras on the ground, hands on their ears as directed, writhing, quickly stilling, but you’re looking up, past the camera, up to the roof, the sky beyond, feeling limitless and powerful in that one moment as sound rings from you for what seems like eternity.

When you stop, _everyone_ is silent. All that can be heard is you gasping desperately for air, shaking, rooted to the spot, your nerves alight with adrenaline. A moment passes, your breathing is loud and angry in the quiet. The extras are still on the ground around you. Still, silence, and you whip your head around, in character, teeth bared, looking for any signs of life with eyes flashing dangerous waiting for something, _anything_ , it feels wrong to leave, not when you’re clearly the victor; Cassidy, you decide, would bask in her victories. You laugh, a sound that’s low and pleased, just edging on exhausted, and you let your posture relax as you toe one of the bodies.

“Cut,” the director whispers, and when you look to him, he’s looking at you, wide-eyed, “ _cut_.” He calls louder this time, and everyone around him finally springs into action. He doesn’t speak to you, moving instead to review the footage on the monitor, and no-one’s quite sure what to do with you, avoiding you, regarding you with something akin to awe. Ben, Kodi, and Jennifer, all are watching you with disbelieving looks, looks you can’t quite read.

“What?” You ask, suddenly self conscious, remembering all your earlier hesitations, but then you hear your scream, tinny from the monitor’s speakers, and you watch over the director’s shoulder. You look… _powerful_ , so different from yourself, you _look_ like a villain, like someone vicious and dangerous, and as you stop, as you breathe, there’s something wicked in the way you move, a promise of terrible things to come.

“We got it,” the director sound like he can’t quite believe it, and when he turns, sees you just a few feet away, he says it again, “ _we got it_.”

“But we only did one take,” you’re confused and more than a little hoarse, but he shakes his head.

“We only need one.”

Each of the cast has moments like this, in the coming weeks, _months,_ moments where their performance is so spellbinding you can’t look away. You’re disappointed to not be on set for Ben’s Horseman transformation, but he sends you a selfie while he’s sitting up in the rafters, and the rest of the cast is on the ground flipping him off, and you feel your heart warm.

“Is it weird for you that Ben’s seeing someone?” Alexandra asks over drinks with Lana and Sophie a few weeks into shooting; it had been a particularly long week since you’d been filming the scene where Apocalypse gives you all your Horseman armor, and Charles contacts Erik telepathically.

“He’s _what_?” You choke on your drink and you can see her begin to panic.

“I thought you knew!” She gasped, apologetic, and you’re blinking quickly, trying to process this information.

“Wait, Ben’s seeing someone? Since when?” Lana asked, tuning back into the conversation from where she’d been idly people watching.

“Since the start of filming, I think,” Alexandra shrugged, and there’s a strange, sinking sensation in your stomach. “The makeup artists keep reminding him that he’s not allowed to have hickeys for his shirtless scenes.”

But then you’re frowning, he’s had that conversation with _you_. And it was just _one_ time –

“And he keeps telling them that it was just one time, but I think they like teasing him,” she says with an offhand fondness, before covering her mouth and looking guiltily at you again. You wave her off, tell her it’s fine, that it’s not weird, but you’re pulling out your phone.

[ _are you seeing anyone?_ ] You just need to be sure.

[ **other than you?** ] A long pause. [ **no** ] _Other than you_. You read the words over and over and over again, surprised at how quick your heartbeat picks up.

“You guys are so cute on set together,” Lana muses, watching you, and when you hear her voice, you’re quick to turn off your phone, lest she manage to catch sight of your screen and reveal your secret, “at least I’ve heard you are –“

“I don’t understand _how_ Ben’s seeing someone, I’d be so jealous if I was her, they’re _adorable_ ,” Alexandra agreed, “every time they’re in the background of this Magneto scene we were doing, they were always like three seconds away from –“ and she makes a gross noise and wiggles her tongue, clearly drunk and amused, and you find yourself flustered despite the fact that she seems to have no clue about the truth of the situation, “the director _loved_ it though.”

The conversation moves quick to the next week’s schedule, how the first half of the week was going to be on the Cerebro set, where Charles finds Erik and discovers Apocalypse’s power, and then the second half of the week was going to be the Horsemen in Cerebro’s hallway with the X-Men, and the beginning of filming Quicksilver’s impressive time-slowing scene. That had a whole week and a half set aside for it to be filmed, and you were grateful you only had to be there for the first two days.

[ _how’s boys night?_ ] You text, and after a few minutes, you get a response.

[ **currently kicking lucas’s ass at pool** ] Ben sends back and you smile to yourself. Lana asks who you’re texting, you lie and say a friend from back home. [ **how’s girls night?** ]

[ _alex thinks you’re seeing someone lmfao_ ] And you wait for his response for a moment before getting another drink.

[ **i am** ] Is Ben’s response, followed by [😘] and it makes you stupidly pleased to know exactly what he means by that. But still, your energy’s waning, and you miss your plush hotel bed, and _maybe_ the idea of the rest of the cast thinking Ben is seeing someone else has you feeling a weird mix of smug and needy.

But you don’t want to come off that way.

[ _i’m heading back to the hotel_ ] [ _if you wanna hang out and watch trashy movies you know where my door is_ 😘]

[ **you drive a hard bargain** ]

It comes as a surprise that it’s barely half an hour after you get back to the hotel when there’s a knock on your door.

“Yes?”

“ _Is the offer of trashy movies still on the table_?” Ben, when you open the door, looks a little disheveled, hair a bit of a mess, like he’d been running his hands through it, shirt unbuttoned a little more than was considered appropriate for polite company, wearing a leather jacket, rambling about the boys at the bar.

“Evan almost took my eye out with a dart, I thought I’d be safer here,” he jokes, but you’re a little speechless at the sight of him, closing the door and leaning back on it, “what?” He asks with a half smile, finally noticing the way you’re quietly admiring him.

“You’re kind of beautiful,” you admit, the alcohol that’s still in your system making you more honest than you’d usually allow. Slowly he registers what you’d said, and he’s actually blushing, grinning wide and bashful. For a moment, it looks like he wants to say something, like it’s on the tip of his tongue, but he seems torn, like he’s not sure how genuine he wants to let himself be.

“Takes one to know one,” he winks, and flops back on the bed, the soft moment seemingly broken in favour of flirting, and you push yourself off the door and flop beside him. But the silence that fills the room is comfortable and warm; Ben pulls off his shoes and flips through the hotel’s selection of movies, and finds a mid-2000s straight-to-DVD comedy that looks suitably trashy. You’re content to tuck yourself up by his side, the movie turning to white noise as you’re drifting off, head pillowed on his shoulder, his arm around you.

You wake when he accidentally jostles you, trying to gently move you into a proper sleeping position.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he murmurs, his own smile tired, a rerun of a cartoon now playing on the TV, “I’m going to get changed.”

“But you’ll come back?” You yawn, barely coherent of the things you’re saying in your mostly asleep state. You miss the way Ben’s whole expression softens.

“’course.”

And you drift out again after shuffling to get comfortable. Somewhere in your mind you register when he climbs back into bed, and you turn instinctively, humming in happy, sleepy acknowledgement. He doesn’t say anything, but he’s smiling. You think you could really get used to this.


	8. Chapter 8

Five weeks into filming and the production team announces that you’re all going to be attending Comic Con, and that there’s going to be a panel, and a trailer comprised of what footage they’ve already gotten. Actually, you’ve known for longer than that, but that’s only because there had been rumours all over Twitter about it, so it’s nice to have it confirmed. You’re about a third of the way through filming, so it’s a considerable amount, but it also feels like _not a lot_.

“I’ve never been on a Comic Con panel before,” the plane is booked out for just the cast and crew attending, and it’s kind of hard to wrap your head around. You work for _Marvel,_ sure, but you’d never considered what that meant.

“It’s kind of exciting; it still doesn’t feel real,” Alexandra, beside you, agrees.

The flight is mercifully short compared to you took from England, and something about the air _smells_ like sunshine when you step off the plane and are quickly ushered into the waiting cars. The hotel is a few blocks from the contention center, a flat grey skyscraper overlooking the ocean, and you’re told on the way there that you’ll be sharing rooms. It’s no big deal, you’ve been paired with Alexandra in a spacious room with two double beds and an ensuite with an entire bathtub, and you’re pretty sure it’s nicer than your room back in Canada.

When you arrive on Friday, the convention’s already been in full swing for a day and a half, and you spend most of Friday afternoon on your bed watching panels that have already happened.

“I can’t decide if I just wanna hang out here and order room service for dinner,” Alexandra sighs from where she’s laying horizontally across her own bed and scrolling through Twitter.

“We should take advantage of the city, right?” You respond with a slight frown, getting up from where you’d been draped on your own bed. Alexandra makes a noise at that, but doesn’t otherwise respond out loud, “you’ve been here before, haven’t you?” You ask, opening your luggage.

“I’ve been _around_ here, but not _here_ here,” Alexandra explains, just as your phone gets a notification.

[ _anyone know a good place to grab dinner?_ ] Alexandra had messaged the cast group chat, and only a moment later there’s a response.

[ _no idea but im down to go explore_ ] Evan messages back, and you throw your phone back onto the bed as it dings again.

“We’re meeting downstairs in an hour,” Alexandra informs you helpfully, before stretching, getting to her feet, and heading into the bathroom for a shower.

Most of your clothes were back in Montreal, since you were only due to be in San Diego for about three days; Friday, Saturday, Sunday. They’ve brought a stylist in for your panel appearance, so all you needed to do was bring casual clothes. Jeans, shirts, the occasional sweater, though you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t need it as it was coming into Summer. You’ve even brought a nice dress, in case you go somewhere warranting more than jeans or shorts. But for now casual’s fine.

You shower after Alexandra, and the pair of you spend ten minutes in the lobby of the hotel once you’re ready, waiting for everyone else who was interested to join you. It’s only a small group, yourself, Alexandra, Evan, Kodi, Lana, and eventually Ben, who comes jogging from the elevator three minutes after you send [ _final call. If ur now down here we’re leaving without you_ ].

The moment you see Ben, your expression lights up, and your phone goes off.

Oscar’s sent a photo from the convention; he’d arrived a few days ago since he had other franchise commitments, but you kind of forgot, in the moment, that that franchise was Star Wars. It was the green room, possibly after a panel, Carrie Fisher was vaping and talking to a beautiful woman who you recognize immediately from the new Star Wars trailer as the lead. You’re pretty sure her name is Daisy.

[ _sorry i can’t make it, can someone pick me up a burrito or something please??_ ] He captions the photo, and you’re pretty sure you’ve ascended. The elbow at the edge of the photo looks like it’s attached to Mark Hamill.

[ _too busy to get your own burrito_ 🙄🙄🙄] Evan messages, which is followed by another photo. Sophie has sent a selfie from the Game of Thrones autograph signing area, showing off the line of fans excitedly waiting, waving for the photo.

[ _me too please and thank_ 😘😘]

It’s your idea to gather together everyone going for dinner, and take a photo with the six of you poking your tongues out, Evan and Ben flipping off the camera, captioned [ _fend for yourselves_ ].

The night is surprisingly balmy and pleasant, and a block from hotel, Evan gets a text and his expression brightens.

“Is it cool if Emma joins us?” You’d met his girlfriend and fellow actress Emma Roberts before, she’d been around set here and there, and you liked her well enough, so you were happy to agree. When she meets up with you, she loops her arm in Evan’s, and something about the sight sat strangely in your chest for reasons you can’t – or rather, _don’t_ – want to think about.

The restaurant you all decide on is up a mildly sketchy alley, but once you’re in the actual building, and the kind-faced attendant offers you all a table on the roof, you realize how nice it is. You can look out over the ocean as you eat, with candles and fairy lights providing ambient lighting as the sun slips beneath the horizon.

It’s strange, you consider, the feeling of having Ben this close, but being unable to touch him, how it itches. You’re both still keeping this… _whatever_ it is between you, quiet; you at least want to pretend to be professionals, like things haven’t gotten messy and your traitorous feelings haven’t gotten involved. Now, off set, you don’t have an excuse to flirt with him, so terrified of other people finding, gaining an unsavory reputation before the film’s even out, that you barely touch him. Your shoulder brushes his and in your mind, you’re back to before filming began, skin singing at the contact but _nervous_ to follow through.

Ben’s got his hand resting flat on the table while you’re all waiting for your food, and you barely notice when, out of sheer habit alone, you move your hand to his, poking his knuckles one at a time in a steady beat. Without looking to you, he flips his hand over, and you start tracing shapes against his palm.

Everyone’s talking about how lovely it is for Emma to be here, as in _at the convention,_ as well as how lovely she’d been on set, to which you’re warmly agreeing, when Lana turns to Ben, expression kind.

“You know if you ever wanted to bring your mystery woman to set, she’s welcome; we don’t bite,” she teased, but Ben pulled his hand out of yours like the contact burned.

“Mystery woman?” Evan frowned, looking from Lana to you and Ben.

“Ben’s secret girlfriend,” Alexandra cleared up, “or whoever left teeth marks on him on the first day of shooting.” And it was taking all of your effort not to laugh.

“ _Not_ my girlfriend,” Ben clarified quickly, heat rising in his cheeks, but you’re not quite sure what to read into his words. Instead of dwelling, you very slowly and deliberately moved to prop your chin up on your hand, watching him with amusement.

“It _wasn’t_ your girlfriend who did that?” Alexandra teased, poking him in the ribs. Ben was blushing furiously now.

“I don’t have a girlfriend, Alex –“

“But you _do_ have someone who bites you?” You couldn’t help yourself. The speed with which Ben whips his head around to glare at you, and the downright _filthiness_ of the look he gives is enough to set your heartbeat racing; all anyone else can see is your look of amusement, since you’d sat yourself at the very end of the table, but you can see the dark intensity of Ben usually bright green eyes, and the way he’s biting back a response you know will out the both of you in an instant.

The rest of the table is laughing, waiting for his response.

“This is why I don’t bring her to set,” Ben settled on, turning back to the rest of the table, and at the confirmation of the mystery woman’s actual existence, both Lana and Alexandra look incredibly vindicated.

“Because you don’t want her to see you flirting with Y/N?” Evan’s not laughing, instead he’s got his eyebrows raised, looking between the two of you, and you feel your mouth go dry in a sudden panic.

“That’s all for show,” Alexandra rolls her eyes, inadvertently coming to the rescue, “they’ve been told to play it as a romance, and they make it everyone else’s problem,” but she’s smiling at you both, clearly not taking actual issue with the situation. Ben, very purposefully and very solidly, puts his arm around your shoulders, turning his nose in the air, a movement which you mimic.

“You’re just jealous,” you tell Alexandra, to which she makes a fake gagging noise, and much to everyone’s relief, the food then begins to arrive.

Not that you’d taken particular notice of his eating habits, but it occurs to you as you see his perfectly cooked steak and green salad put down in front of him, you’re not sure you’ve seen Ben eat a single carb since this whole process began. You’re not sure why you’ve noticed now, but you do, but don’t point it out, and simply tuck into your own meal.

Everyone goes their own way after dinner, to spend the evening as they choose. You’re walking the well-lit streets with Kodi and Lana when you get a text. It’s from Ben; it’s the address of a movie theater. You respond with confusion.

[ **how do you feel about Jurassic world?** ] He asks, and you pause for a moment, pondering your response before you send it.

[ _as a concept or a movie?_ ]

[ **both I guess??** ]

[ _ambivalent but I like chris pratt_ ] [ _why_ ]

[ **it’s playing** ]

[ _and???_ ]

[ **you’re really going to make me say it** ]

[ _yes_ ]

[ **I want to see you** ] [ **just you, if I didn’t make that clear** ]

You make up some flimsy excuse to Kodi and Lana, and immediately make your way to the movie theater, bubbling with excitement.

_He wants to see me. He wants to see me. He wants to see_ **_just me_ ** _._

You kind of feel like you’re floating on the way there, which, okay, maybe the idea of being alone with Ben excites you more than you’d realized. Alone with Ben in a movie theater – _is this a date_?! You two had never discussed labels, and you’d never _really_ put any thought of how this whole situation would play out. You were so focused on trying to get through one day at a time that you’d never even considered the future.

Ben’s not anywhere to be seen when you get there, but he tells you he’s already in the theater when you message him again. You buy a ticket and make your way inside; the theater is almost empty, apart from the blonde figure at the back. You give a jaunty, nervous wave and he coughs a laugh, both confirming that he was in fact Ben, and gesturing for you to join him.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” Is what he says in greeting, expression both frustrated and amused. You make a noise of confusion, sitting beside him, but don’t break eye contact, “back at the restaurant, that stuff about the damn bite –“

“But it’s cute watching you _squirm_ ,” you can actually hear the moment the hint of a whine enters your voice and _woah,_ when did that happen? But Ben’s eyes are dark and intense as he takes in how your whole expression twisted into something amused and smug, and Ben, unable to help himself, cups your jaw with one hand and kisses you hard.

“You’re a menace,” he murmurs against your lips, and you pull back, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

“Watch it, don’t think I won’t do it again; we’re not back on set for almost a week, that’s enough time for a bite or a scratch to heal.” You tell him coyly, and you watch with amusement as a range of emotions flick over Ben’s face, including three of which seemed to be _we are in public, I need to keep calm._

“That better be a promise,” he settles on, voice low and raspy, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

You’ve never had someone so enthusiastically go down on you in a movie theater before, and you’ve never been happier to return the favour. The action movie playing on the big screen right in front of you does little to deter either of you, and as the credits roll, you’re in a kind of giggly and content state, and Ben seems quietly very pleased.

The walk back to the hotel is relatively quiet, which was surprising; you’re coming to find that you enjoy the comfortable silence with him as much as you enjoy talking. But then your earlier concern surfaces back in your mind, and you can’t help but voice it.

“Was this a date?”

Ben gives a rather surprised look, and you can read on his face that he hadn’t even thought about it.

“I guess?” He’s slow to answer, “I think it counts.”

“Our first date was going down on each other set to Jurassic World?” And your half amused, half genuinely appalled expression is one he mirrors. After a beat, you clear your throat, “I honestly didn’t _think_ we were dating.”

“Neither did I,” Ben’s quick to agree, before he stammers out, “not that I don’t like you, _obviously_ ,” to which you chuckle and nod, _obviously_ , “this is _fun_ , but it’s not- it’s not _serious_ ,” and he pauses, licking his lips, “for now?” Though it sounds more like a question, rising at the end.

“I don’t think I have time for anything serious anyways,” you shrugged casually, by way of agreement, and Ben sighed with relief.

“Then no, that _wasn’t_ a date,” he clarified.

“Just two friends getting off in a theater,” you agreed, and he choked on air, making faces at your chosen phrasing. He was _far_ too cute when being teased. It was far easier, you told yourself, to just focus on getting through one day at a time without having to navigate the complexities of an _official_ relationship. It’s like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders, and once more, on the walk back to the hotel with Ben by your side, you kind of feel like you’re floating.

Back at the hotel, it’s late, and when you arrive back to your room, Alexandra informs you that the stylist had been by to drop off your clothes for the panel the next day, and that she’d be by to do hair and makeup the following afternoon. You thank her, and flop onto the bed with a contented smile.

“You okay?” She asks tentatively, and you turn your head, fixing her with that same, cheery smile.

“I’m great.”

“Kodi and Lana told me you’d gone off into the night,” she says bluntly, regarding you with slight suspicion.

“Saw a movie,” was how you explained, still radiating a strange and casually relaxed aura.

“Was it any good?”

Your smile widened.

“No idea.”


	9. Chapter 9

The following day, you let yourself sleep in late, take a bath in the spacious tub, and prep yourself for hair and makeup, milling about and eating room service until the stylists arrived. They put on music, and you sat patiently in the chair beside Alexandra, the two of you having a quiet groove while the team made you up.

For the panel, you’re given a tailored pair of black pants and a tight, red shirt, and the most flattering leather jacket you’ve ever had the pleasure of wearing. You realise it’s the closest you could have possibly gotten to evoking the idea of your character without actually cosplaying her.

And you _love it_.

But the drive to the convention center is nerve wracking. The wait in the green room is nerve wracking. _Is that Ryan fucking Reynolds? Oh god it’s Wolverine!_ They’re announcing a _Deadpool_ movie, aren’t they? And _Logan_? And _your fucking movie_. How has your heart not broken from your ribcage like a cartoon? It’s beating so hard you can hear the blood rushing in your ears.

You don’t see it, but Alexandra, who had been talking quietly with Jennifer, Michael, and Ben, nods over to where you’re standing in a corner, breathing sharp and eyes unfocused, gaze moving from one indistinct point to the next. Ben doesn’t even hesitate, he takes Alexandra’s wrist and tells the others that they’re just going to check on you.

“Hey honey, has someone gotten you water yet?” Alexandra asks when they get to you, and you seem startled to see her. Slowly, however, you register that it’s just her, and you shake your head. Ben’s already going to find one a member of the convention staff, and your hand flutters by your side as you stop yourself from reaching out after him. Alexandra asks carefully if she can touch your shoulder and you give a shaky nod, and let her lead you over to a sofa where Tye and Sophie were sitting. They’re quick to move the moment they see how out of it you are, hopping up and out of the way, asking if you were okay.

“I think she’s overwhelmed,” Alexandra said quietly, to which you nodded, unable to form words, but sitting on the sofa at her gentle insistence. You’re fidgeting with shaking hands, but Alexandra’s sitting beside you, telling you to focus on her voice, counting out breaths for you. Ben’s back in moments, holding out the water bottle, kneeling beside you.

“Take the water, breathe in, one- two- three-” Alexandra instructed, and you followed her lead as you unscrew the water bottle, “and out, one- two- three- four- five- take a drink, okay?” You do, the water almost like ice, a reset to your system.

_Breathe in. Focus on your friends words. Breathe out. Drink if you need to._

They’re talking you through your anxieties, even as you nervously breathe that you’re terrified of doing a terrible job in the movie with all of these fans counting on you. The Deadpool panel has already gone on stage, and you can hear the crowd from here which _isn’t_ helping. They reassure you, Alexandra sitting beside you with her arm around you, reminding you to take deep breathes, to focus on what you can see and hear in the room.

Ben is holding your free hand, his thumb warm and reassuring as it presses into your palm, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him, or anything that’s not the floor.

They’re still talking. The world shrinks down to just the convention center, and for a moment, all you’re worried about is everyone here, not everyone in the world who’ll see the movie. Then, the world shrinks down to just this room, to your costars, to the director who has regarded you highly since the moment he met you.

And then it’s just the two of them. It’s Alexandra’s arm around you and Ben’s hand holding yours. To your breathing and their gentle voices.

Oscar finds you three, Oscar, who’s about to be in _Star Wars_ and _X-Men_ , and still speaks so gently to you, a nobody from the England who lucked into this. Except he’s telling you that’s not true; it’s like he can hear your fears and thoughts, and is actively combatting them, telling you that you’d _earned_ your place here, just like the rest of them, that they’d all seen the proof.

He tells you he knows what it’s like to be young and terrified, and to carry the weight of the world.

Ben squeezes your hand.

Alexandra pats your shoulder.

Oscar tells you it’s going to be alright.

And you’re called to preset for the panel.

“Will you be okay?” Alexandra asks, and there’s something about the way she asks it that makes you realise – and it’s there in Ben’s eyes too, and Tye and Sophie’s, and when you look around, anyone who had noticed what you’d went through – you’re _young_ , and you don’t seem it often, so it’s jarring to see you so vulnerable.

“I’ll be okay,” you said softly, taking another drink of your water. After a moment, you pressed a thankful kiss to her cheek, and gave Ben’s hand a squeeze. As you looked to Oscar, he gave you a single nod, _you’ll be okay_ , the nod affirmed. You nodded back, and get to your feet.

The lights on stage are _blinding_ , and you’re just praying that you don’t look as out of it as you feel. They’ve just shown a trailer cut from footage that had already been filmed, but you’d been too spaced out to pay attention, and now they’re talking about the film and the context, and the host is acting like everyone’s best friend and –

Ben spends the first five minutes of the panel quietly trying to balance his water bottle upside down. As soon as he’s successful, and he realizes you had been watching the whole time.

“Can I borrow your water bottle?” He asks, and you look down at the half empty water bottle you’d been fidgeting with.

“Why?”

“I’m thirsty.” When you look back up, you see he’s trying and failing not to grin.

You look to his water bottle, then to his stupid little smile, and hand over your own water bottle without argument. It’s easier to focus on trying to telekinetically knock over his water bottle as revenge, than listen to the veteran actors all go down the line talking about their characters, worrying about sounding like a fool when they get to you.

“Y/N Y/L? – _Y/N_?” The host is tentative as he finally calls on you. Ben nudges your ankle gently under the table, and you snap out of where you’d been glaring at his water bottle. You look to him, and then quickly to the host.

“Yes?” You look to the host, expression surprised, as if caught red handed, “sorry, I was trying to knock over Ben’s water bottle with my mind,” to which the panel and the host laugh, the sound rings in your ears, but you make yourself grin out to the audience, giving a wave, “hi everyone!” They cheer and yell back, and for a moment, your heart swells with pride and panic in equal measure, “this is so exciting!”

“Now, Y/N you’re coming in, playing Control – _Riot_ Control –?” The host asks, and you pulls your microphone forward with an amicable grin.

“We’re going with Control this time around; Miss Cassidy Temple, _Control_ ,” you explain.

“Well seeing you up there in that trailer gave me chills, seeing the scream – it is _The Scream_ , right?“ He clarified, and you nodded with a sharp grin, “it just took me back to middle school, watching the old X-Men cartoons, wondering if I had a bigger crush on Cassidy or her clone,” both he and the audience laugh, and you can’t help but feel a little flattered, “but this is the first we see of her in the entire X-Men Cinematic Universe; I think it’s only you and Oscar here who I can say that about, so what can you tell us about this version of Control?”

“I’ve never done this much hand-to-hand combat before,” you say after taking a moment to compose your thoughts, “because I’ve got _The Scream_ , and I’ve got- she’s got other things, of course,” you vaguely allude to the little mentioned explosive power of your character’s clones, “but that’s just as likely to injure the people on my team, so it’s just easier for, you know, for me and my clone to square up,” and you hold up your fists with a grin, and out of the corner of your eye, you see Ben duck his head to try and hide his laugh. Beneath the table, you gently kick his ankle, which only makes him laugh harder.

“Don’t laugh, I’ll kick your ass!” You protest, though your tone was teasing as you knocked your shoulder with his. When he looks at you, you can see him holding back laughter, as well as a myriad of teasing responses or suggestive facial expressions, which only served to remind you of what had happened last time you’d been pitted against each other in fight training. He sees it on your face the moment you realise what he’s also remembering in that moment, and his grin grows just a fraction wider, though you’re both saved from yourselves by the host.

“Okay, okay, one last thing before we move on to Alexandra; I have to – you know I have to ask,” the host is grinning, all sparkling white teeth and too friendly smile, “I like I said, I grew up, you know, watching the cartoons, reading the comics, and Ben, Y/N, I _have_ to ask –“ the crowd is already buzzing in anticipation with what they know is coming, waiting for the inevitable, one word; “ _ArchRiot?_ ”

The crowd goes off at the _implication_ , it’s almost deafening, and you try to play it cool and smile and laugh, your hands shaking where you’ve got your palms flat to the table, and thankfully Ben leans in to the microphone.

“I don’t know how much we can tell you -” he laughed, at which point you leaned into your own microphone, playing along.

“There could be feelings, but we’re not allowed to say which ones.”

“It’s hatred,” Oscar laughs, a few seats away, “they spend every moment on screen just ready to fight it out,” he looks down the panel to the two of you, and there’s something warm and reassuring in his eyes when his gaze meets yours; _you’re doing great._

“That’s because we’re mortal enemies in real life,” you added with a smirk, feeling just a little bit more confident, to which Ben cuts in –

“Absolutely, complete rivals,” but he’s smiling in that fondly amused way, “isn’t that right?” And he offers you his hand, and you don’t even hesitate, linking your fingers together as the crowd screams around you. The contact soothes your nerves; you look at him and not at the crowd.

“So that’s a _no_?” The host asks teasingly, and you very pointedly lean your cheek against your joined hands, looking out at the crowd with a smug little smile, but not really seeing them, letting Ben field the question.

“Don’t know what you’re on about, mate; clearly we hate each other.” Ben gestures to where you’re pressing your cheek to his knuckles, and his thumb is brushing your hand where the audience can’t see.

“ _Clearly_ ,” the host agrees with a cheery sarcasm, moving on to Alexandra. With the bit over, you both lower your hands to the table as you watch Alexandra speak, and you only let go of Ben’s hand to trace shapes on his palm absent-mindedly. You’re not sure why you’re doing it again, something about the repetitive nature, and the warmth of his hand, eases your nerves and gives you something to focus on.

They play the trailer again, once everyone had spoken and the panel had wrapped up, but this time you’re all on stage for it, this time you see the footage they’d collected, the Horsemen in their armor looking powerful and unstoppable, you among them. There’s flashes you see of yourself, and suddenly it hits you that this is bigger than you’d ever conceptualized. This had a history that spanned back decades, and now you were part of that history.

 _“Mutants are being hunted_ ,” Mystique’s voiceover explained, tone serious as the music began to swell, each beat heavy, leaving room after for dialogue.

“ _Oh God,_ ” Charles’ eyes are dark and wide as Cerebro glows purple around him.

 _“What_?” Hank asks, out of shot, and the following shot hits you like a lightning bolt as you see yourself, screaming, teeth bared as the camera pulls back quickly to reveal bodies around you; you look like an _animal_ , powerful and dangerous. It’s only a few seconds long, but seeing it has made you weirdly serene.

Before the trailer’s even over, as Ben pats you on the shoulder, and Alexandra gives your arm an excited squeeze, you know without a shadow of a doubt that you’re part in this franchise, and this character’s legacy, is well earned.


	10. Chapter 10

San Diego was a brief but pleasant holiday, but it felt good to get back to work the following week. They’ve already filmed Magneto and Angel’s _Horseman transformations_ , but you and Storm were still to come, a prospect you’d been looking forward to. The only cast on set for Storm’s was Alexandra and Oscar; she’s the first Horseman turned, but for you, all three Horsemen and Apocalypse himself were waiting, and of course, there was the poor human you had to kill at the start of the scene.

The actor’s nice enough, his name’s Eddie and he’s perfectly kind and professional, which is what you want out of someone you have to make out with while surrounded by cameras. He kisses soft and tentative at first, until the director instructs him otherwise, and then he’s holding your leg up by his hip, coming in hard enough that your noses smack together and you both end up bursting out laughing. He apologizes profusely, of course, but the director just calls for the scene to rest, and you tell him it’s okay.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the other Horsemen sitting back behind the cameras, waiting for their cue. Michael and Oscar are talking quietly together, Alexandra’s on her phone, and Ben is looking up at the roof, tapping on the arm of his chair. Something about it seems strange, like he’s bothered by something, but before you have time to really think about it, the director’s coming up to you.

“Okay, Y/N, you’re lulling him into a false sense of security, right? He’s anti-mutant, and your goal is to distract him until your clone shows up, so you let him think you’re docile and sweet, uh,” he’s searching for a word to describe what he wants, but the concept curdles in your mind and you’re not sure you’ll like whatever he says, so you cut him off, tell him you get what he’s asking, without hearding whatever unsavory word was about to roll off his tongue - _malleable, submissive, obedient_. Thankfully, he turns to your partner.

“Eddie, don’t be afraid to manhandle her, okay? You’re meant to be an asshole.” And he’s smiling, but Eddie gives you a doubtful look as he leaves.

“Are you okay with that?” Eddie asks, and something in your chest eases. You’ve had to do more than one sex scene in front of a live audience before; getting dirty in an alley was tame compared to a theater sex scene, you just wish the director wasn’t so _weird_ about it.

“Do your worst,” you grin, thankful for his gentlemanly nature.

“My worst?” Eddie’s blushing, and your eyes widen in amusement; instead of backing down, you nod, before considering.

“As long as you’re okay with it,” you told him, and he smiled brightly, pinching softly at your cheek.

“I’ve got you,” he assures, and the director calls for you both to rest the scene.

Like you, Eddie’s good at playing dark and intense when he wants to, not that you’d be able to tell that by looking at him, but he pushes you against the wall, his mouth on yours, nails digging into your thigh when he lifts your leg. His hand is holding you to the wall by your side, and when he pulls away to deliver his line, his pupils are blow wide and he, like you, is a little breathless.

Your smile is sharp when you grab the collar of his jacket to pull him closer, give him a look over as you ask him what he’s doing here, but he presses his chest to yours, trapping your hands against his chest, his lips inches from yours when he murmurs his line.

“ _Any chance to show those mutie freaks we’re not afraid, I’ll take_.” He tells you, and you kiss the corner of his mouth after a moment, moving to whisper in his ear.

“ _You should be_ ,” and when murmur it, all sharp teeth and quiet threat, he tries to step back, you shove him back, towards your waiting stunt double, done up in clone makeup, “ _we shall inherit the Earth_.” And a choreographed brawl ensues, yourself and your stunt double Ana teaming up on Eddie as you’d rehearsed for several days.

After cut is called, Eddie gets to his feet with a grin, ready to go again. Ana gives you both a high five. You’re already resigned to having to do this another ten times, and then another twenty in the clone makeup, before you can move on from this thirty second moment.

The making out gets progressively meaner, and sloppier as the takes go on, until the director steps in and tells you both that you need to dial it back, which makes you both laugh, and kissing Eddie is like breathing. Between takes, you hang out in front of the camera, because there wasn’t usually enough time to go anywhere or do anything, but occasionally you talk to the other Horsemen, well, Alexandra, Michael and Oscar. Ben always seems to disappear the moment you want to talk to the Horsemen.

But then, _finally_ , they’re happy with the footage of the fight, and the Horsemen are called over. The makeup team splatters you with fake blood and smudge fake dirt on you. The costume department give you a torn jacket, so you look appropriately roughed up and dangerous.

You do all the scenes as the clone while you’re still in the make up, which means Ben, who’s meant to be talking to the original alone for part of the scene, is missing, and weirdly intense and quiet when he comes back, but you figure he’s just in character.

They have you throwing yourself back onto a matt what feels like a hundred times for the actual transformation, and when you finally rise, breathing hard, the exhaustion’s not fake.

Most of the cast and crew is given a short break while your makeup is changed over to the original, and you emerge from the make up trailer feeling refreshed and ready to finish the scene. You’re still splattered with fake blood, and dirt, and your jacket’s ripped, but without the facial prosthetics, you’re feeling somewhat lighter, even eager to keep filming.

“You’re being weird,” you tell Ben bluntly while the two of you are sent to the end of the alley set, and the camera crew set up around you. You’re both sitting on the metal platform Ben jumps into the scene from, making it look like he’s landing with his wings. Ben makes a face, but thinks for a moment, looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Just never seen you throw someone around like that,” he says, casting a glance to the end of the alley where Eddie’s chatting with Alexandra, laying on the ground where he’d been laying for the past few hours, pretending to be dead.

“You scared of me?” You grin, knocking your shoulder with his. He smells like smoke, the scent clinging to him, just a little, and mint he’d obviously started chewing to get rid of the taste. You lean your chin on his shoulder, giving a Cheshire Cat smile. When he turns, you’re nose to nose, and he actually seems amused.

“ _No_ ,” he says very pointedly, and though he doesn’t seem annoyed at you like you’d suspected, he clearly wasn’t telling the whole truth.

“ _Ben_ ,” your voice was a gentle warning, and he looked away and licked his lips, trying to find the words to explain. You sat back, regarding him cautiously.

“I’m not –“ and his voice drops even lower, so low even you, right next to him, can barely hear it, with the faintest hint of a self deprecating smile on his lips, “I’m not _jealous_ , if that’s what you’re worried about,” he muses, and you feel a slight weight lift off your shoulders, “at least,” he pauses for a moment, his grin stretching a little wider as he ducked his head and refused to look at you, “not in the way you’re probably thinking; kiss all the extras you like, I don’t care.”

“But then –“ but the director calls for everyone to be in place before you can ask, and right before action is called, Ben seems amused, letting you try and figure out what he meant on your own. Unfortunately he’s thrown you off your rhythm, and it takes two incredibly mediocre takes before you’re back in Cassidy’s mindset.

But then you’re _there_ , seeing Angel, the man whose life you saved just days ago standing strong and proud, his wings now _metal_ , something enticing in his eyes –

“You’ve gotta seduce her to the dark side,” the director tells Ben when he offers you his hand. You and Ben share a rather amused look once he’s moved back behind the camera, but the energy’s changed; by now, Ben himself knows exactly how to push your buttons with just his tone, lacing each word with implications and promises, and he’s not above using that to produce a genuine reaction from you.

“ _What do you want from me_?” You demand once action is called, uncertain of what his character’s doing here, hesitant to trust, but his gaze is intense, his usually bright eyes surprisingly dark.

“ _We’re taking what we_ ** _deserve_** ,” his voice caresses every word, low and dark, eyes burning into yours, and you don’t look away, barely registering the camera in your face, catching every slight shift in your expression, “ _what we’re_ ** _owed_**.” And he offers you his hand, palm up and inviting, and you glance to it, before looking back at his face. You swallow hard.

Cassidy wants _power_ , of course, but in this moment, you realize, and you hope it shows on your face, she wants him too.

“Cut! Reset!”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, and Ben breaks out into a grin, stepping back and shaking out his hands, unable to look you in the eye as he moves to reset. In contrast, you’re quiet, still in Cassidy’s headspace, trying to keep up your intensity in the meanwhile.

There’s a take where he changes the line, where he steps into your space, closer than usual, and tells you ‘ _we’re taking what we deserve, what we’ve been_ ** _promised_** ’ and your mind flashes to how he’d looked at you like that in the movie theater in LA, eyes dark and shiny and somehow promising and begging at once. You grab his hand – it’s not in the script, the scene is meant to cut before then, but if you don’t touch him, don’t dig your nails into his hand, you’re going to kiss him right there in the middle of shooting. And he can tell; when the director calls cut, Ben’s repressing a pleased little smirk, and he gives your hand a squeeze.

The director tells you that they’ve got all the footage they’d need, and you both head back to the other end of the alley, to the rest of the cast.

As the crew starts setting up, you sigh deeply once you reach the cast, sitting on the ground and letting yourself relax for the short time you have. Ben sits by your side, and you rest your head on his shoulder, legs out in front of you. His hand is resting on your thigh, palm up and open, you don’t even think before you start tracing shapes, this time stick figures of your characters.

“You guys sounded like you were killing it,” Eddie notes with a perfectly kind smile, smiling up at you where he was laying on your other side on his back, waiting.

“I’m just glad to have a few minutes off my feet,” you sigh, lifting your head to look at him with a tired smile. It’s been a long day.

“You alright?” Ben asks, and his thumb taps once on the side of your hand.

“I’ll be fine,” you answer, and trace a distinct check mark against his palm.

You run through the rest of the scene with little fuss, let yourself slip back into Cassidy, into that power-hungry, Machiavellian mindset, willing to kill to get what she wants. She surrounds herself with people who will be useful, and once that was Mystique, but now it’s the Horsemen; it’s a God, it’s Magneto, the man she’s molded her ideologies after, it’s Storm, with lightning simmering beneath her skin, and it’s Angel, who she knows from experience _fights_ for his survival.

They want her; it’s validating, it’s _flattering_ , and you smile devilishly when you tell them your name is _Control_.

“ _Control; you want them to fear you_ ,” Oscar tells you, and raises his hands to you, and as he does, you make yourself _feel it_ , feel the power he’s blessed you with, has surging into you all at once. As Cassidy, it overwhelms you, your senses, has you shaking, and you don’t want to scream, don’t want to hurt these people, but it’s too much; he’s forcing clones into you, out of you, bringing out the power you hadn’t even known you’d been capable of.

The first two of your screams are underwhelming, while you’re still searching for the right emotion, for the right motivation, and you feel like a fool; you know your first scream, all those weeks ago, had been talked up, and now you’re hoarse and the director’s given everyone a break, and is trying to give you a pep talk. It’s _condescending_. It’s _everyone has off days_. It hasn’t been an _off_ day; it’s been a _long day_.

“I’ve got it, I’ve got it,” you brush him off, annoyed, crackling with frustration at yourself, but finally latching onto the right emotions for the scene. He calls to reset. The other actors walk onto set, and you crunch on the lozenge you’d been sucking on, and down half a bottle of water in only a few moments.

“You okay?” Ben asks, and your eyes are flashing dangerously as you give a brief nod. For just the barest moment, he stalls, surprised, and you see a surprising emotion flicker over his face; he’s _into it_. It doesn’t do much for your mood, but you catalogue it in the back of your mind.

“ _You want them to fear you, and they will. They all will_.” Oscar says, hands out, and you feel it again, powered by the need to prove yourself, show that you’re as good as Ben and the director say you are, fueled by the frustration of people feeling as though they’re allowed to condescend you because of your age, or your gender, your frustration at yourself, for ever thinking that not living up to your potential was an option.

The scream comes from your chest, lower this time, shaking with rage and frustration and _pain_.

You fall back, breath ragged, expression furious, and your stunt double helps you up, still in the clone makeup, but when you face the other Horsemen, you know that _this was the one_. They’re smiling, they look _proud_.

“ _You will bring the world to it’s knees_ ,” Oscar tells you, voice heavy with gravitas and you believe him without hesitation, believe the smug smile he wears, and the genuine pride in his eyes. Your hands are shaking, and you step through where they’ve marked out the portal again.

“Okay cut, awesome! We’re just gonna get one more for safety,” the director calls, and you turn to him, eyes burning bright with intent.

“I can do that,” and you mean it.

After the scene’s finally wrapped, you find yourself still in a strange mindset in wardrobe, spaced out, staring into the middle distance, half dressed as you’re ruminating on the day.

_I’m not jealous in the way that you think_.

Ben’s words played on repeat in your head, and you knew you were _close_ to figuring out what he meant.

You’re in hair and makeup when one of the assistants tells you how _mean_ and _badass_ you look, and you remember the way Ben had looked at you when you’d almost snapped at him and _– oh._

“Can you leave the blood and grime and stuff?” You asked as she approached you with a makeup wipe. Pausing for a moment, she frowned, but only took a moment to shrug and agree. It didn’t give anything away about your character when paired with your plain clothes, so you were allowed to leave in it.

When anyone asks, you just shrug and put on a cheery façade, and explain that you don’t get to look this cool often. You don’t pay Ben much attention, feeling a little smug at realizing what he’d been hinting at, and wondering how you hadn’t seen it earlier.

[ _I get it now_ ] you text him before heading from set towards where the company cars were coming to pick you all up and take you back to the hotel, or to wherever you want to go.

[ **oh?** ] and after a moment he follows it with [ **btw, im a fan of the makeup** ].

[ _of course you are_ ] you respond, and you both know without having to communicate about it, that you’re both going back to the hotel. The car ride is silent, but Ben’s struggling to hide his smile; he _knows_ you know.

You wait for almost twenty minutes in your own room, making sure no-one was around or in the hall, before heading next door. Ben’s waiting, sitting on the bed, flipping through his phone.

“So what have you figured out?” He asks, all smug, his gaze raking over you, still covered in fake blood and dirt, looking like you’ve crawled out of hell. He knows, and he’s making you say it.

“I can’t believe you were jealous that it wasn’t _you_ I was throwing around today,” you say, leaning against the door; Ben’s smile widens.

“I don’t exactly think you could –“

“But you’d like me to _try_ , right?” You asked, voice sticky sweet and poisonous as you approach him, movements slow and deliberate, like a panther moments from striking, “you watched me pretend to kill a guy and thought _I want that_.” He’s clearly amused, but also absolutely blushing. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy being in control, you’d realized, but he doesn’t mind having the _option_ of not being in control.

“It’s… _different_ watching you act,” Ben says carefully, and for a moment he averts his gaze, “Cassidy’s mean; I didn’t realise you had it in you as much as you do.” He admitted.

“Because it’s my _job,_ Ben,” you told him, rolling your eyes, tone a little condescending, and the way you say his name has a shiver running down his spine, “and I’m _very_ good at my job.” You told him matter-of-factly, all confidence, no hesitation. Now you’re on the bed, giving him little time to think before you’re in his lap, straddling him, one hand braced by his head against the wall as you lean in.

You’re not quite in character, but you’re not quite yourself; you’re somewhere in the middle, powerful and unapologetic.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Ben muttered beneath his breath, his gaze locked with yours, pupils blown wide, grinning, “you’re hot when you’re mean.” For just a moment, you let yourself give a genuine grin at the compliment, before you kiss him hard.


	11. Chapter 11

Exactly two weeks after Comic Con, only a few days after filming your Horseman scene, you wake up to a surprising amount of messages on your groupchat after Merissa had found and sent a link from an Australian celebrity and lifestyle website, POPSUGAR.

[ _No, I Will Not Shut Up About Their Hands – Ben Hardy & Y/N Y/L/N’s Onscreen Romance Blossoms Off Screen?_]

Apparently an ‘ _inside source_ ’ was able to report that you’d been getting intimate around the time filming started, and of course the writer was obsessing over your affectionate gestures during Comic Con, but overall it was trite and could be easily explained away as simply reflecting the closeness of your characters.

Thankfully, your friends don’t seem to be taking it too seriously, and are, instead, mocking the article’s lack of actual evidence, and sensationalist buzz words, mercilessly.

 **(Merissa) TELL METAL DAD I LOVE HIM:** @y/n why does no one think we’re in love??? do I have to hold your hand more???

 **(Jamie) stop changing my name to Jamie Lannister:** my favourite wedding tradition; you may now hold your husband’s hand

 **(Andrew) Keeper Of The Braincell:** lmfao jam I cant wait to hold ur hand

**(Jamie) stop changing my name to Jamie Lannister:** **😘😘😘** ****

**(Merissa) TELL METAL DAD I LOVE HIM:** like honestly who is this “”””inside source”””””?

 **(Andrew) Keeper Of The Braincell:** hur dur yes im a production assistant I saw them standing next to each other on set

 **(Andrew) Keeper Of The Braincell:** im losing my mind who let this get published 🤣🤣🤣

You’ve never been more grateful for your friends than you are now, so the idea of lying to them feels… _disingenuous._

 **(Y/N) england’s best export:** what r u talking about?? Obviously online tabloids ONLY tell the Absolute Truth

You know they’ll read it as sarcastic, and their responding laughing emojis mean as much, and you put your phone back on charge. Ben, in bed beside you, stirs, yawns, and asks if everything’s okay. It’s quiet and strangely intimate, and something in your chest tightens.

“There’s speculation about us online,” you explain softly, looking up at the roof, “apparently someone is saying they saw us hooking up around the time filming started,” you paused, deliberated, but Ben cut you off before you could continue.

“And the panel just added fuel to the fire, didn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you agreed, the word hanging in the air for a long moment, “most people think it’s just for publicity, if it’s real at all.”

“Has your manager said anything?” Ben asks, which surprised you, and you’re quick to check your email; two emails from your manager about projects that want you to audition, and an email from the director about how he needs you on set next week for a new scene, nothing about your public image.

“If you’re manager, and the studio’s PR team aren’t worried, then it’s fine.” Ben reasoned. When you turn to him, he’s got his face half crushed into the pillow, wearing the barest frown, looking every bit his character’s namesake against the stark and perfect white of the hotel’s sheets. Your phone goes off again, and you pick it up, holding it up to read the message on your lock screen.

“Who’s _‘Tell Metal Dad I Love Him_ ’?” Ben asks, more amused at the name than anything else. You turn the screen off once you’ve gotten the gist of the message; Merissa’s lamenting that she doesn’t have anyone to ‘hold her hand’.

“A friend from back home, Merissa; I think she’s got a crush on Michael,” you explain around a yawn, before remembering the email from the director. Ben hums, content with the answer, smiling against the pillow as he closes his eyes and falls back asleep with ease.

You read the few pages of the script you’ve been sent, an unnamed scene with no dialogue. They want you on set when the X-Men are being held in the government facility. As a Horsemen, you’re meant to be thousands of miles away in Cairo, but the script is very clearly set in the facility. There’s no-one else in the scene. There’s no dialogue, just a description of the scene, and a song; _Everybody Wants To Rule The World,_ the Tears for Fears version. You’re the only one in the scene, and the set is specified as being covered in blood with wailing sirens, but no people around. You’re confused to say the least, but the director explicitly states that you’re not to tell the rest of the cast.

“They want me on set next week,” you say anyways, and Ben makes a sleepy noise of question, “not sure why.” He makes another noise, and pets your arm affectionately before rolling over to his other side.

When you get to set on Wednesday, the last day of filming for the facility set, it’s already been trashed, and you’re told that Hugh Jackman’s cameo went spectacularly. You’re a little sorry you missed it. They don’t redress the set, they leave it looking grimy and destroyed, but when you get out of hair and makeup, there’s a door you hadn’t seen before, glowing with white light, and there’s a pair of crew members fitting the door with a pane of glass.

It’s sugar glass, you’re told, and you’re going to be punching through it.

 _Holy shit_.

“What’s this for?” You ask, and the director looks to someone who’s dressed like an executive.

“We’re playing around with a few ideas,” the director tells you vaguely, and you frown, “we can’t tell you just yet, I’m afraid.” Is the best explanation you get.

There’s a person in a green screen suit on the other side of the white door, in what turns out to be a medical-esque room, which somehow is just more confusing. They won’t tell you what he represents. You’re told that it’s whatever you want most in the world, that that unidentified person represents your deepest desire, which what is mostly written in the script, and you play along.

They play the song as a backdrop of the shoot since any actual and diegetic sounds were going to be added in post by the foley team for clarity, so eventually you find yourself just kind of vibing. You’re not sure what to picture at first, your hand resting on the glass, while the green-suited hand meets yours take after take, but you eventually start seeing it as a _Mirror of Erised_ from Harry Potter; you see yourself at the top of your game, successful and revered and on top of the world.

 _Technically_ it’s a clone punching through the glass, but since you no longer have to switch between ‘clone’ and ‘original’ makeup, there’s no need to have your stunt double step in when it can all be done in post.

There’s something cathartic about getting to punch through the sugar glass, once- twice- three times, a new pane each time, until the director was happy, and something deeply satisfying about the green-suited person’s hand resting against yours, then yanking you into the bright white room. In your mind, you were playing it as though your future, successful self was pulling you into her world, promising that it would be yours one day.

It only takes a few hours.

The director seems pleased. The _executive_ seems pleased. Still, no-one will explain anything to you. You get out of costume and makeup and are sent home for the day, no closer to understanding what it was all for.

Ben sends you a message, asks you how it went.

[ _good, I think_ ] you send back, but you’re feeling _strange_ and _good_ for reasons you can’t quite explain.

The strangeness, at the very least, leaves you the next day when you show up to the lot they’d built the Cairo set upon, seeing towering green screens behind piles of rubble and artificial smoke. The set for the final battle. The beginning of the end. Sort of; there was a lot more of the film to shoot, all of the outdoor scenes at the Xavier Academy, but there was only one or two scenes that you’re required for after the final fight had been filmed.

This is where all the combat training comes to a head; when you’re not being filmed, you’re going through fight choreography with Kodi and Ben, finally showing off everything you’d been learning, all the effort you’d been putting into your training.

Your character’s everywhere in the fight, clones distracting and fighting and tackling, and Ana’s a godsend in these instances, as are all the stuntpeople, who seem excited to throw themselves around with seemingly little regard for their own safety.

But finally – _finally_ – you get to the fight between Cassidy and Nightcrawler, and you’re _begging_ the director to let you do the first few takes yourself. Both the stunt coordinator and the director give you a dubious look over, and you feel anger rise in you.

“I haven’t done all this training for _nothing_ , Ana –“ and you turn to your stunt double, expression fiery, “I can do it, can’t I?”

“She’s been diligent as hell, give her a chance,” Ana told them seriously, her voice unwavering and arms crossed, looking like a more muscular mirror of yourself in full costume and makeup.

“Does she need extra padding?” The director asks, talking as if you’re not even there. Ana, however, looks at you.

“Do you?”

“ _No_ ,” voice resolute, you look at the director, unflinching, and he at least has the decency to look a little sheepish.

It takes half of a day to film the fight between just the three of you, actors switching out with stunt doubles like they’re square dance partners.

And maybe you’re running on the morning’s caffeine and nothing else because your nerves and excitement are making you a little sick, and _maybe_ you hit the ground too hard again, and again, and again, and _maybe_ Kodi’s stunt double punches too quickly for you to react without actually getting hit – he spends a full five minutes apologizing, but you’re grinning, running on adrenaline, already ready for more. You feel alive, like the whole process has been leading to this, and in a way, it has.

There was a startling intensity to your acting when you fought; it startled the rest of the cast who hadn’t been at your other fight scenes, while the Horsemen just seemed _proud_. Of course, you were proud of them too, you’re a _team,_ a _unit_ , like the X-Men but, you know, worse. Morally. You Horsemen liked to argue that you were cooler than them, and honestly if they’d ever heard any of you proclaim as such, they didn’t argue back.

The point is, with both you and Ben fighting Kodi, or even his stunt double, you moved like a single fluid unit through the choreography, ducking and weaving and striking like it’s a dance. You’re all teeth and performative anger, and the moment cut is called, you breathe out all the intensity and smile. Between takes, you’re electric and bright, breezing through the day, quick to get into Cassidy’s mindset, leaving it behind easily when you break for dinner.

And then it’s just you and Kodi, your character’s final fight, and you’re strapped into the aerial harness. It pinches at first, but when you’re lifted off the ground, there’s delight written all over your face.

“I get why you like it up here,” you grin down at Ben, who was laying on the ground where he had been thrown earlier in the fight. You’d been in the harness before to rehearse the fight, but with both you and Kodi in full costume, it took it to a whole new level.

There’s a shift here, in emotion, in intention, and it takes you a while, almost the entire time they were setting up the shot and everything that went with it, to settle into that mindset, that raw _bitterness_ and loss, fury that Angel was injured – and by the mutant that you and Mystique had _freed_ , the _audacity_. But you get there, fingers twitching, itching for the fight to begin.

It goes smoothly, you and Kodi pulled through the air as you trade blows, enthusiastic and dangerous, but never really _in danger_ , and when they finally wrap on the scene, you’re glowing with sweat, breathing hard, and _beaming_. The moment you’re on your feet, you throw your arms around Kodi, laughing, and he’s laughing too, exhausted, hugging you back.

“I knew –“ you delighted, “I fucking _knew_ that would be a blast to film!”

“It’s been a pleasure kicking your butt,” Kodi grinned, all cheery and blue, and you can’t help but laugh as you step back, clapping him on the shoulder.

“The feeling’s mutual,” you assured him, and you both have the go-ahead to leave set, get out of costumes and makeup, and go home.

There are moments you’re on set the following day, doing short shots or sequences with other characters as your clone, or a shot of the original Cassidy, alone, flinching as she feels a clone take a hit, but there’s a scene that has you buzzing with anticipation, and _dread,_ at the same time.

“You ready to die?” You ask Ben, you, he, and a collection of other cast members are all out for drinks after a hard week of filming. Alexandra snorts a laugh and Ben grins, shaking his head mostly in disbelief. When he looks back up, however, there’s a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. Beneath the table, you rest your hand on his knee, and tap your thumb against him once, mirroring a gesture you’d noticed him doing more often when he seemed to notice you flagging during filming. Now, you’re looking at him with question in your eyes; _you okay_? After a moment, he reads the gesture easily and smiles, relaxes the set of his shoulders; you feel him trace a check mark against the back of your hand; _I’m fine_.

The warplane set feels _tiny_ when you finally get on it the following week. It’s you and Angel against the X-Men, against Jean putting the plane into a nosedive and Nightcrawler trying to teleport everyone away and ultimately succeeding. Angel dies in the crash, with your clone beside him.

There’s a practical effect where it makes it look as though Angel’s sharp wings have cut through the roof of the ship as they’re trying to get away, and that piece of the roof falls through as you jump down onto it, and into the cockpit, quickly followed by Angel. You’re actually just jumping onto a crash mat, but the effect’s nice.

And then Jean puts the plane into a nosedive, and you and Angel stumble back with nothing to hold for support, thrown to the back of the plane as it’s practically in freefall. Angel stands, offers his hand to you to help you to your feet, and the pair of you struggle to advance on the X-Men.

On set, there’s murder in both your eyes, practically a pair of terminators until the X-Men get away, which was a sharp contrast to how you’re joking with the others in between takes. Ben, however, is quiet and thoughtful, which is not entirely unexpected, his character’s about to die.

Then it’s just the two of you in the cockpit, the X-Men have gotten away, and the plane’s about to crash. It’s just you, Ben, and a small army of crew members.

“Hey, I was thinking,” Ben waves the director over in between takes, chewing on his lip as he finally voices the thought that had been plaguing him since the scene had begun, “what if, when Cassidy looks at me, instead of her reaching out, I –“ he pauses, giving a furtive glance to you, and then to the director, “I try and shield her with my wings.”

A _very long_ moment of silence ensues as both you and the director mull over the suggestion, and Ben, with quiet joy, watches the horror pass over your face.

“That’s _heartbreaking_ ,” you mutter, eyes a little glassy as you see the scene play out in her mind, “I’m just a clone here.” You say, more to clarify than anything else; Ben’s eyes are bright.

“I _know_ ,” his grin is all teeth, looking at you with a newfound enthusiasm. “It’s instinct, right?” He prompts, and looks to the director.

“Ben, my boy, you’re gonna make me cry,” he says sincerely, “that’s _perfect_.”

“No hope for Angel now, but he can still…” he shrugs, and you’re pretty sure when you see it in theaters, you’re going to _bawl._

There’s no more reservations in his performance now, and you feed off that energy, let it fill you head to toe, the anger that turns to fear and desperation. At first, you’re thrown to the front of the warplane, and then you’re just leaning in to each other, the wings to be added in post, but a few takes in, he takes the initiative after you’re thrown to the front of the warplane, and wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close as you brace for impact. You’re frozen for a few moments before the director calls _cut, reset_.

That’s how you do it, over and over again, fitting into his arms, dwelling on how it feels like the end of an era. _The plane crashes. Angel dies._ Over and over. Cut, reset. You realise you don’t want this to end – the scene, the movie, what you have with Ben. You’re in your own head for a few takes before the director calls that they’ll get one more take and then move on.

Thrown to the front of the warplane, look to Angel, _realise this is the end_. There’s something in Ben’s eyes, a fear, a _desperation_. He doesn’t want this to end either. You act on instinct, on impulse this final take, and when he reaches out for you, you kiss him, hard and desperate. He seemed to have anticipated this, both his arms around you, holding you close, still moving as to shield your character as best he can, but you’re digging your nails into him, shaking in his arms.

“ _Cut!_ ” The director’s voice sounds _very far away_ , and you barely pay him any mind, still wrapped up in Ben and the moment. The director calls cut again, louder this time, and this time you heed him, but only in that you and Ben break apart, but don’t step apart, breath coming out in heavy pants

 _Fuck_.

“Okay, you all have half an hour, meet back here at four!”

You and Ben laugh, exhausted, breathless, and he leans his forehead against yours and swears quietly. He taps your back with his thumb once. You trace a check mark against the back of his neck. You repeat the tap against his skin, and he gives a soft chuckle, kissing the corner of your mouth when he traces the check mark against you.

“Okay, everyone mark the time; I want everyone to know I was _right_ ,” you hear Evan’s voice above the chatter of the crew, “and you all told me I was crazy!” He sounded smug, and you could only laugh harder, finally stepping back from Ben.

“You assholes really let me go about defending you and saying it was all for show?” Alexandra is smiling, despite the disbelief in her words as you approached the rest of the gathered cast.

“Sorry, Alex,” you told her, reaching out and giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze, but she just rolled her eyes good naturedly, her gaze flicking from you to Ben.

“It makes sense,” Kodi shrugged, but Evan’s eyebrows shot up.

“ _It makes sense?_ You’re the one who told me you thought they were together, but _you_ didn’t want to believe it!” He laughed, and Kodi, though you couldn’t see if he was blushing for his makeup, you could tell.

“We’re not _together_ together,” you corrected, wrapping an arm around Ben’s waist as you said it; he nodded beside you in agreement, and absolutely no-one looked like they believe you. Ben leaves, since he was finished for the day, heading to hair and makeup, and after Alexandra calls you ridiculous, in the most kind and loving way she can, you slip away to wait for him.

There’s only five minutes left of the break by the time he’s out of costume and has had the makeup scrubbed from his face, but when he steps out, and sees you, his whole face lights up.

“So…” he starts, and it’s a little strange, to not be walking on eggshells around each other for fear of people finding out.

“So…” you grin back, bouncing a little on your toes.

“You’ve still got a scream to film, don’t you?”

“Well you _did_ just die,” you mused, and Ben’s smile softens, “that shielding idea really was genius; it’s gonna be crushing on the big screen.” There’s pride in your words, and Ben turns red around the ears.

When he kisses you this time, it’s soft, his hands holding your cheeks, smiling against your lips, as if savoring the moment.

The director calls that break is over.

“I’ll see you after, right?” Your voice is soft, is hopeful, and Ben grins.

“’course, now go kick ass.”

And with a spring in your step, you do.


	12. Chapter 12

In the weeks that follow the wrap on your character, you feel a little like you’re in freefall; primary filming hasn’t finished entirely, and you’re kind of worried there’s a chance that you’ll be called back to set for another shot, so you’re just hovering around Montreal, biding your time, and filming auditions for manager to send to the right people.

Also, much to your chagrin, it’s now public knowledge that you and Ben are ‘ _together but not exclusive_ ’ as one tweet puts it. The kiss, which could have been passed off as a spontaneous moment of in-character passion, when coupled with the already mounting evidence of your on-set affair, which now included your ‘in-character’ flirting when you weren’t even on camera, meant that even crew members who didn’t know you and Ben that well could put two and two together.

Your Wikipedia page now has a _Personal Life_ section; you’re not quite sure how to feel about that one.

You’re not dating him. You’re also not _not_ dating him. All that’s really changed is that now you sometimes kiss him in public, and the number of weird and sometimes nasty twitter DMs and mentions you get has increased.

 **(Merissa) TELL METAL DAD I LOVE HIM:** wait so the popsugar article was right?

 **(Y/N) england’s best export:** a bit

 **(Merissa) TELL METAL DAD I LOVE HIM:** A BIT??? Y/N WHAT

 **(Y/N) england’s best export:** we’re not Together we’re just

 **(Y/N) england’s best export:** fucking

 **(Y/N) england’s best export:** and we’re buddies

 **(Y/N) england’s best export:** you know

 **(Jamie) stop changing my name to Jamie Lannister:** alsdalsfjldjsgrsk

 **(Andrew) Keeper Of The Braincell:** akjfdhgkdjf @ _england’s best export_ i hate you

 **(Y/N) england’s best export:** I am sorry I didn’t tell you guys sooner

 **(Andrew) Keeper of the Braincell:** I don’t care abt that I just hate that you said fuck buddies like that

 **(Merissa) TELL METAL DAD I LOVE HIM:** yeah lmao its Hollywood im surprised ur even admitting shit now hahahaha

 **(Merissa) TELL METAL DAD I LOVE HIM:** I thought the usual strategy was just deny deny deny

 **(Y/N) england’s best export:** we’re not saying nything to the press but I felt bad lying to you guys

 **(Andrew) Keeper Of The Braincell:** lmfao I cant believe your 12 yr old crush was actually just foreshadowing

 **(Merissa) TELL METAL DAD I LOVE HIM:** WAIT WHATTHEFUCK

The moment Merissa finds out that Ben Hardy was the same as _Ben Jones_ who was in her brother’s soccer team for three years, who you both went to high school with, she goes offline for several hours and comes back with the news that her brother said ‘ _congratulations; you got further than most girls who tried to shoot their shot with him in high school’_. You ask why she told her brother. All she could respond with was that she didn’t know what else to do. It’s perplexing, but you don’t actually mind.

What you _do,_ however, mind, is the call you receive from your mother when _she_ finds out.

“Why did I have to hear about your new boyfriend from _Facebook_?” FaceTiming your her was always an interesting experience, and this was about the most painful way she could have started this one.

“He’s _not_ my boyfriend,” you corrected with a sigh, halfway through getting ready for the wrap party now that filming had finally come to an end. Your mother, in all her poorly-framed, dimly lit glory over your phone screen, gives you that look she gives when she thinks you’re being naïve.

“I did some googling, sweetheart; I saw the photos from that interview –“

“Comic Con panel,” you correct with an air of defeat, settling the phone on your dresser..

“- and I’ve know you your whole life; I know what you look like when you’ve got a crush –“

“It’s not a crush!” You cut her off, embarrassment raising your voice an octave, pacing out of exasperation, stopping only to hold your head in your hands.

“I just don’t know why you wouldn’t _tell_ me,” her voice is soft now, apologetic and guilt inducing in the way that only a mother can be.

“There’s nothing to tell, we’re just –“ and you press your lips together, looking up from your phone and then quickly away from it, refusing to say it out loud to your mother, but somehow she seemed to understand.

“ _Oh_ ,” she makes a noise like everything suddenly makes sense, “oh sweetheart, don’t be embarrassed, those sorts of flings were all the rage in the eighties, I would know –“

“Mum, you’re killing me,” you groaned, as if you could _be_ any more mortified, and she just laughed, loud and bright, unashamed of her youth, but she calms considerably after a moment. The light on her face changes, and she’s suddenly tapping away on her phone, look of consideration crossing her features.

“So your _not_ -boyfriend-“

“ _Mum_.”

“- I knew I knew him from somewhere –“

“ _Mother._ ”

“- and I can’t believe I didn’t see it before –“

“ _Mum, I already know –_ “

“- Peter Beale!” She says, delighted, “everything comes full circle, doesn’t it; quite the coincidence, but I’ve always thought he was very handsome.” She mused, and you’re pretty sure if the world ended right this minute, you’d be totally okay with it. “Is he still on Eastenders? They’ve changed my shifts around so I’ve been missing it during the week.”

“I don’t think so,” you say wearily, feeling as though this single conversation has aged you years in just minutes.

“He was such a sweet kid; you know _you_ thought the world of him,” she saw fit to remind you with the most insufferably knowing tone, and you ask her, only half joking, if you can hang up, when there comes a knock at the door.

“Y/N?” It’s Ben on the other side of the door. “Can I come in?”

“Is that him? Is that Mister Beale?” You mother’s eyes are shining with excitement and you feel fear surge through you.

“Gimme a sec,” you call voice strained with frustration, before turning to your mother, but she pleads with you as you go to hang up.

“I won’t embarrass you, and I wanted to ask when I can get tickets to the movie,” she explained, and you’re almost positive your confusion and exasperation reads on your face.

“ _Next year_ , mum,” as if you can’t quite believe her, and Ben cracks the door open.

“You okay?”

“It _is_ him, he _cares about you_ ,” your mother all but coos, absolutely loud enough for Ben to hear, and you silently pray for a meteor to strike the hotel as you quickly mute her.

“Sorry, it’s my mum,” you say much gentler than before as you turn and smile at Ben. He’s holding a bra and sweater you’d presumably left in his room, “her main news source is Facebook.” You explain tiredly, a shorthand for _she’s been interrogating me about us_ , to which he gives an understanding and vaguely apologetic look. Then, he glances at the phone propped up on your dresser only a few feet away, and promptly freezes.

Following his gaze, you see your mother grinning widely and waving, occasionally pointing to herself and mouthing what looks suspiciously like ‘ _remember me_?’. Or, well, she’s probably saying it, but she’s been muted.

“Mum, you’re on silent,” you tell her, and move over to the dresser, “I’ll call you back.” You tell her flatly, turning off the phone and putting it face down, ready to only apologise further.

Ben looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“That is your mother.” It’s not a question in the slightest, but you still nod, a sense of sinking dread in your stomach, “I’m a horrible, old man,” he wheezed, eyes glazed over, still looking at your phone.

“You’re twenty-four,” you correct him flatly, though you’re fidgeting now, moving away from the phone and still watching him.

“I’m a terrible, dirty, old man,” he responds, and when he looks you in the eyes, you can see he’s _horrified_. _Oh no_. “Y/N –“ the way he says your name sounds both like a warning, and like he’s contemplating throwing himself directly out the window, “tell me right now – _be honest with me_ – tell me we’ve never played _fucking Mario Kart_ together.”

You swallow hard but can’t answer.

“I’m going to be drawn and quartered, aren’t I? _Fucking hell_ , you were _a kid_ –“

“And I’m not anymore! You’re saying it like you committed some cardinal sin! You were a _babysitter,_ Ben,” and you hesitate, after you finally found your voice, “a good once,” you conceded, though he’s looking a little ill now, and your voice shakes a little, dropping to something soft, “I’m sorry, I I thought you _knew_ , I thought –“ but your voice faltered, “my _mother_? That’s what made you remember?” There’s something hurt in your tone, but Ben’s eyes widen in almost furious disbelief.

“You mother didn’t go through _all of_ _puberty_ since I last saw her!” When the words leave him, you both let them hang in the air, fill up the space until you’re choking on them, “how could you know and not tell me?”

“I didn’t think it would be a big deal,” you manage weakly, though it’s not the whole truth. It’s on the tip of your tongue, tears stinging your eyes, how selfish you know you’d been, afraid to jeopardize the fragile balance of this _thing_ that was between you, but all that escapes is; “I’m sorry.”

And at that he deflates, all the anger and frustration leaving him in one breath, his eyes closed like he can’t bare to look at the world he’s suddenly found himself in.

“It’s weird,” he says, defeated, “I’m sorry I yelled, but it’s… it’s _weird_.”

“It doesn’t have to be –“ you tried, but when he opens his eyes, there’s pain there, and your voice dies in your throat.

“I took care of you; you were a _kid_ ,” and he gives a conflicted smile, “from what I remember, you were a really sweet kid, but you _were a kid_.” and _what_ does that even _mean_?! It does little to quell your sudden disillusionment.

“So the last few months mean… just mean _nothing_ now?”

“I didn’t… _know_ ,” he sighs like it’s not that simple, but it’s your turn to be outraged and disbelieving.

“ _What_ didn’t you know? That I was once a child and now, thanks to the passage of time, I’m an adult?” You cocked a hip, gaze still cloudy from the traitorous tears that seemed moments away from spilling.

“It just doesn’t… _something_ about it _isn’t right_.”

“Okay,” closing your eyes, you take a deep breath in through your nose, and wipe the traces of tears from your eyelashes, “when it stops being _wrong_ ,” you open your eyes, his expression is unreadable, “feel free to give me a call, I guess.” And you turn, to hide the shaking of your hands, and head to the bathroom.

“Y/N –“ he tries, but you stop, letting out an audibly shaky breath.

“Go away, Ben,” voice barely a whisper, you can’t look at him where you’re standing, haloed by the golden light of the bathroom.

A pause; a second, a moment, _two_. Ben’s footsteps; the sound of the door clicking shut.

You’d been intending on staying a few more days, to really take your time to say goodbye to the city that had temporarily become your home, but that evening, you pack all your belongings into a suitcase before you leave for the wrap party.

Everyone’s so _fucking happy_ it’s cloying, their praise thick in the air like smog, choking you. You _want_ to be happy, you really, honestly do, more than anything in the world, you _really_ want to not be on the verge of tears because of your _not_ breakup with your _not_ boyfriend, but every time you see him smile you want to throw whatever you’re holding.

It’s like you’re a kid again, ashamed for having feelings for him, ashamed for even thinking it’s allowed. Someone like _you_ isn’t allowed to be with _him_ , just like your younger self had reiterated so many times, you just wished you’d _listened_. The part that hurt the most was that this time you were starting to believe it _wasn’t_ true, because you couldn’t see a feasible reason for it to not be allowed.

But it’s _weird_.

It’s _wrong_.

He’s _not happy_.

If he’s not happy or comfortable with the situation, you’re going to have to learn how to live with that.

Starting _tomorrow_. Tonight, you’re going to be to be as unhappy as you please; it’s pretty much a break up, you decide you’re allowed to wallow a little bit.

“You okay?” Alexandra, unsurprisingly, is the first to notice your off mood. For a fleeting, and bleakly amusing moment, you wonder who would get her in the split; despite the fact that she would probably remain friends with both of you, merely putting words to the event had your mood souring further.

“I’m tired,” you give her a weak smile, and she nods, hand resting on your arm for a brief moment, solidarity and comfort, as you’ve come to expect.

People pat you on the back and tell you what a good job you’ve done, and you try and believe them, but you hear the things they don’t say;

“You did a great job!” _For someone so young._

“Didn’t know you had it in you!” _Because you’re too sweet to take seriously._

“Your casting really turned out great!” _I had no faith in you to begin with._

If anyone can tell that your grin is just you biting on your urge to lash out, no-one says anything. There’s group photos, and people’s hands on your arms, arms around your shoulders, it feels like you’re suffocating, when the only thing you realise you want right now is to be _alone_.

So you make your exit; you kiss people on the cheek and hug goodbye, and listen and refute everyone who asks you to stay for one more drink. In the car to the hotel, you book a seat on the next flight to LA, and in the taxi to the airport, you book a hotel in LA. You haven’t even changed. You bought this outfit with Alexandra a few weeks prior, and now, sitting in the Montreal Airport, you feel like it’s going to waste.

Maybe it’s a mistake, to cut and run so viciously, so effectively, so _immediately_ ; maybe it’s an overreaction, but running, right now, seems like the easiest and safest decision. With everyone calling you a kid, they shouldn’t be surprised when you make impulsive, emotional decisions.

[ **where are yoi?** ] It’s four in the morning and your plane’s due to leave in an hour when Ben texts you.

[ _airport_ ] you respond.

[ **already??/** ]

[ _are you drunk?_ ]

[ **that’s not the issue** ]

[ _why are you texting me_ ]

[ **I wanna talk** ]

[ _come to the airport. I’ve got time_ ]

[ **wit what car???** ]

You sigh deeply; you can tell he’s too far gone to be seen in public, so you don’t even suggest a taxi.

[ _im going to LA_ ] [ _I’ll see you for reshoots and press shit_ ]

[ **you’re just leaving?** ]

[ _what do you want me to say?_ ]

[ **I don;t know** ] [ **I’m sorry I overreactrf]** [ **overreacted** ]

[ _it made you uncomfy, that’s fair, so I’ll leave you alone_ ]

[ **you lefyt fast** ]

You read the text over and over again, trying to decipher what he meant by it, trying to formulate a response. You’re torn between telling him that it’s because he broke your fucking heart, and you had to spend all night looking at his stupid smile, and just messaging ‘ _that’s showbiz baybee_ ’, though neither response seems quite appropriate right now.

You leave him on read.


	13. Chapter 13

You spend a month in LA, doing auditions and screen tests for pretty much any movie that asked, keeping busy enough that you didn’t even have time to think. You do two episodes of NCIS and table read for a pilot in development, and send in several audition tapes for a few big name films who had contacted your agent. There’s more than a few low budget high-school romcoms desperate to cast you, but they all seem to fall through, and honestly, there’s no love lost when they stop contacting you.

You don’t hear from Ben and you pretend it doesn’t bother you.

When the month’s up, and there’s nothing tying you to America for the moment, you head back to England, much to your family, friends, and your bank account’s, delight.

“You’re squishing me, guys,” you wheeze where Jamie and Merissa are crushing you in a hug at the airport. Andrew’s standing back, expression soft fond, holding a the sign they’d made with your name on it in block letters.

“We’re just making sure you’re used to getting mobbed at the airport,” Merissa says sincerely, and you can hear the smile her voice as she hugs you a little tighter.

“Our girl’s a movie star,” Jamie coos, petting the top of your head, which is your cue to make a face and struggle out of their grip. Perhaps you over-struggle a little, but Andrew catches you by the elbow and keeps you stable, and gives your shoulder a squeeze in lieu of a full hug; he’s never been the overtly affectionate type, which you’re thankful for in this moment.

“I thought mum was coming to pick me up,” you mused for a moment, and the three of them shared a look.

“She asked us,” Jamie said evasively.

“She’s still getting your room ready,” Merissa, as always, is a terrible liar, with numerous and amusing tells, but you narrow your eyes.

“Has she planned a homecoming party?” You ask, and they both do their best to act as if that’s a preposterous idea.

“Of course she has,” Andrew says with the faintest air of amused exasperation, and is already stepping around you to take the handle of your suitcase. You try to protest, telling him you could take it yourself, but he’s just smiling, won’t hear a word of it as he starts making his way to the carpark, leave the three of you to catch up.

“I’m never letting you keep a secret!” Jamie announces, hot on his heels, and Andrew throws an amused look over his shoulder.

“ _Peach_ , as if you could keep a secret from me,” he jokes fondly, using the pet name you’d heard only a few times, but made your heart soft at the sound. It did not have the same effect on it’s recipient, however, as Jamie puffs out his cheeks with indignance.

“Don’t try to _Peach_ your way out of this; I could if I wanted to,” he blusters.

“Like?” Andrew prompted, but Jamie let out a sarcastic laugh.

“No way, you’re not gonna trick me; I’m a fantastic secret keeper!” But there’s something on the tip of his tongue that he seems desperate to spill, but it spitefully keeping quiet about as Andrew mouths the word _fantastic_ with amusement.

“They got engaged last month,” Merissa cuts in, and Jamie’s mouth drops open in surprise as he hisses her name, scandalised. Andrew just lifted his hand to flash the thin, gold band at you, and you’re taken aback, overwhelmed with excitement as Jamie and Merissa begin arguing.

“ _How_ is it a secret if you’re actively wearing your engagement rings?!” Merissa proclaimed, and Jamie threw his hands in the air.

“They could be for something else! Or just a regular ring!”

“Congratulations,” you speak over them with sincerity, and when he faces you, Jamie’s beaming with pride, the argument already forgotten.

At now least you had a reason you _wanted_ to celebrate tonight.

The party your mother’s planned is relatively small, just friends, family, and neighbours; everyone wants to know what it was like, who was good to work with, if it’s hard to be on camera, and you’re honest about almost everything. A few nosy neighbours sidle up to you as the night gets on, wine drunk and feeling like a gossip, starting the conversation with _‘so I read online_ ’. Your smile gets tight, and your answers get evasive, but surprisingly, your mother seems to rescue you just as often as one of your friends.

“Now Ellaine,” your mother reprehends the woman talking in a hushed tone about ‘ _certain handsome young men_ ’, while discomfort was written all over your face, “she just got home, leave her be, leave her be.” And Ellaine scurries off like a sulking dog, and you shoot your mother a grateful look. “Anything to eat or drink, sweetheart?” You mother asks blithely, as if it were nothing, and you shake your head, smiling.

_I’m not seeing Ben anymore_ , was all you sent to both your mother, and to your few friends who knew; no-one hounded you for details, no-one asked why.

[ **Are you okay? If you need to come home, your room is always here. I love you. xx** ] Was your mother’s message, and it’s the first and only time you’d let yourself cry over this whole situation.

[ _okay, if you need to talk I’m here <3_] Merissa had sent, and a similar sentiment had been echoed in Jamie and Andrew’s messages. But at the time, the _last_ thing you’d wanted to do was talk. You’d wanted to be busy, to be _distracted_ , but now –

“I still think about him, is that weird? We weren’t together long; is it weird?” You’re out in the back yard, on the patio on a metal folding chair, wrapped up in jumpers and blankets to stave off the cool night air. You’ve spoken to anyone who wanted your attention, and it’s finally socially acceptable to slink off and spend some time almost alone. Beside you, Jamie’s smoking one of his rare cigarettes, with his phone in one hand, and coffee in the other. He’s borrowed one of your mother’s sweaters and a beanie with your high school’s logo that you don’t know how he found, and he looks to you suddenly.

“No,” he says simply, and put his phone down while you deliberated over his answer. On his own, or with Andrew, Jamie’s surprisingly grounded and thoughtful, especially for someone as easily excitable as him, but there’s a reason he’s one of your closest friends, and it’s moments like this.

“You sure?”

“Of course not,” he admits casually, “I don’t know the full story,” he took a sip of his coffee, and you let him take the moment for effect, “but he _was_ your first love –“

“I didn’t _love_ him,” you protested, but Jamie’s giving you a surprisingly pitying look, which just makes your expression sour, “I _didn’t_.”

“Okay,” Jamie concedes slowly, “well I know you cared about him for a long time, right?” A silence greets him, along with your sheepish expression, and his own turns from pitying to soft and understanding, “you’ve got years of feelings that you need to try and let go of; you may have been together for a short amount of time, but for you, it’s been longer than that.”

_Oh_ , that actually... makes sense.

“Was he... was he scared because he,” you deliberate, looking into your own cup, “he thought I had stronger feelings than him, and something like this would happen?”

“I don’t know,” Jamie says gently, “I don’t know what happened.” But he’s not asking, he’s never been one for gossip, just happy to try and support you with whatever information you feel comfortable telling him.

“He knew we went to high school together,” you say, after a deep sigh, “he knew that before anything happened between us, but he didn’t... I mean, I sort of thought he knew,” you hesitate for a moment, before finally spitting out, “he babysat me a few times in my first year of high school. Our parents are friends.” Your voice went quiet with the faintest touch of guilt, “I still don’t think he knows that part.”

It took Jamie a few moments to process this information, blinking quickly, trying to keep his face from betraying his confusion and concern.

“I was under the impression he knew about the babysitting thing because of the high school thing, was that not...?”

“No,” you took a long sip of your drink, “he didn’t recognise me; he graduated in my second year. He did...” your voice got caught in your throat for a moment, “recognise my mum. She probably hasn’t changed much; she’s always kind of looked like that, I guess, and so he freaked out,” your lip trembled, a wobble in your voice, “because he realised who exactly I am. I feel like _such_ an asshole for being so hurt, when, if I look at it from his perspective, I would have probably freaked out too.”

In a heartbeat, Jamie’s out of his seat, putting his cigarette out on the arm of his metal chair, and his mug on the ground, kneeling beside you, taking your free hand in his.

“You’re not an asshole, Y/N, you’ve spent _seven years_ thinking about him, maybe it’s occasionally, maybe it’s every day, but _still_ , that’s a long time for someone to live in your head,” he’s so calm and focused with every word he’s saying, you can’t help but listen and believe him, “and you _finally_ had those thoughts validated in a _big way_. You’ve actually developed some real feelings for him – _not love_ – but strong feelings,“ he correct himself before you even had a chance to, “and you’ve been spending all your time with him, only for him to react badly to those seven years of feelings. You’re both hurting in different ways, and neither of you have reacted well to the situation, but you’re _not_ an asshole.” It’s his mix of blunt honesty and gentle reassurance that has you dissolving into tears. Jamie wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a hug.

“You’re gonna be okay, you’re gonna love again,” he reassured, and you didn’t even have it in your heart to correct him, because there’s only so many times you can delude yourself about your feelings before you realise they’re delusion.

“You promise?” You sniffled, and he gives you a squeeze.

“Cross my heart, hope to die.”

The next day, Andrew takes you out for brunch, and though he doesn’t say it, he knows you’d rather be doing things than stagnating. Even something as low effort as brunch is better than staying in bed until the late afternoon, staring at the ceiling and compulsively checking Twitter. He doesn’t ask about Ben, but you can tell from the look in his eyes that Jamie had explained the situation; you’re not mad, you’d expected as such. Instead, he asks about your plans, and you mention a few auditions you have lined up, but trail off, a little lost. You don’t really have anything to do until your agent contacts you, so your schedule’s looking a little sparse until you land your next project.

“You remember _Squarefoot Theater Company_ , right?” Andrew clasped his hands on the table, leaning forward when you’d finished talking, his voice carefully neutral, though a sharp grin had immediately made it’s way onto your face.

“I would never forget our first kiss,” you teased, and he gave a patiently amused smile.

“I meant the adult theatre company, not their junior division,” he amended, and your expression wrinkled for a moment.

“I remember mum wouldn’t stop talking about the guy who played the lead in _Equus_ a few years ago,” was all you could recall, and Andrew went faintly pink around the ears, his gaze dipping to his mostly empty mug.

“Yes, I remember their twenty-thirteen staging of _Equus_ ,” he coughed loudly, before his gaze returned to yours, “well they’re putting on _A Streetcar Named Desire_ ; they’ve almost finalised casting, but I told them to hold off before I spoke to you.”

“No audition?” You asked softly, a little awed at the generosity of the offer.

“I’m the director,” he’s so casual about the fact, but you still cut in to congratulate him, and he’s quietly oozing pride when he speaks, “and I’ve seen you act for years,” he reminded kindly, before his voice turned serious and business-like, “I will say, it’s a short rehearsal period, only two and half months, three rehearsals a week; a two week run that closes on Christmas Eve, and there’s no set wage, it’s profit share,” he gave a slight shrug, as if to say ‘ _it is what it is_ ’. It’s Independent theatre, it’s to be expected.

“You’re really giving me the hard sell,” you said softly, but you were smiling, “what role would you have me playing?”

“Miss _Blanche Dubois_ , of course,” he puts on an exaggerated, southern American accent, tipping his head to the side as his own smile stretched into a grin at the sound of your light laughter. “You’re talented, and, I’m going to be transparent with you, it’s stunt casting; you’re well known around here, people know you’re in movies, your name in that program will sell tickets alone.”

“Really?” You hadn’t even considered that, but you supposed that now you had to; you were starting to really _become_ someone; you’d been relatively well known in town for your theatre performances before anything had happened with film, but now your _name_ was as important as your talent.

“Only if you have nothing better to do,” he’s trying to act casual, but he can kind of tell he’s already got you onboard.

“You know I’d do anything for you, Andy.”

You end up helping with the production side as well, with costumes and set and props, and it fills your time nicely between auditions and interviews and the occasional screen test in London. You film a few bit-parts in TV shows in various locations around the UK, and find you enjoy the routine of rehearsals, throwing yourself into it wholeheartedly. It’s strenuous, but you don’t mind; all you eat, think, and _breath_ is acting, and for now, that’s the way you like it.

The months breeze past; October, the set designer holds a low-effort Halloween party and you wear a Charmander onsie, claiming it to be the most comfortable costume you’ve ever worn. November’s eventful in that you’re called back to do a screen test for a project you thought was a longshot, something apparently _Speilberg_ was attached to, and you thought you had _no hope in the world_ of getting, but it seems they like you enough to get you to come into their London office to do a reading, and as the month comes to a close, you’re called up about X-Men reshoots being scheduled for January. December seems to happen in a blur, one week of rehearsals before you’re opening to a sold-out crowd.

It’s been so long since you’ve been on stage, and there’s no feeling in the world that can compare, not even being on film. It’s as easy as breathing once you fall into your rhythm, and the crowd eats it up every night. It might be one of the proudest performances of your life, if only for the joy it seems to bring Andrew.

And it feels like no time at all before it’s closing night.

Christmas Eve.

You’re in tears in the bows, realising it’s all coming to an end, and the whole cast waves Andrew on stage, gives him a bouquet of flowers, and wrap him up in a group hug as the audience gives a standing ovation. Once the curtain falls, Jamie practically tackles Andrew, and the two are wrapped up in each other on the quickly emptying stage, a sight that warms your heart, their engagement rings catching the stage lights in a way that’s almost magical.

Back in your dressing room, however, you have a missed call from your manager, and a text from Ben.

[ **you smashed it out of the park in streetcar** ] [ **should be very proud of yourself** ]

Which, _what the fuck_ , he was _here_? He _saw the show_? After _months_ of nothing; _this_?! 

But as strange as it is, and as much as you want to yell, it’s _very_ quickly overshadowed by the voice message your manager had left behind.

“ _Just wanted to call to give you the good news, call it a Christmas miracle! I bet you’re doing your play right now, hope you’re breaking a leg, dear! I just got the call from the team over at Warner Brother and_ Ready Player One; _get ready to be in a Spielberg picture, Y/N! They want you for Artemis, the_ lead; _they loved you! They want you!”_

_Holy. Shit._


	14. Chapter 14

Before heading back to Canada, you stop over in LA for a week. It’s more of a formality; you could just as easily sign your _Ready Player One_ contract in London, but being in the states gives you the opportunity to shake Spielberg’s hand and thank him in person. He’s frightfully kind, and has a strangely serene warmth in his smile, but his handshake is unyielding.

“Thank you to _you_ ,” he counters your thanks with one of his own, “we’re glad to have you on board.”

When you ask, in passing, if they’ve cast the lead, Wade Watts, the response you get is not the one you’d expected.

“We believe you may already know him,” one of the producers says with a faint smile, and you raise your eyebrows in silent question, “Tye Sheridan.” An involuntary laugh of disbelief escapes you, but they don’t take offence, since the smile you wear belies how pleased you are at the prospect. Not that you’d had a lot of interaction with Tye, but you’d shared more than a few scenes, you’d been out drinking with him, had sparred with him once or twice to warm up for the final scenes, and honestly, you’re just glad you don’t have to build your relationship up from nothing.

Building a leading romance with a stranger would have been intimidating, but you would have manager; Tye is kind of a dork and you’re pretty sure you could never be intimidated by him. You’re already looking forward to it.

Once you’ve signed, and you’ve still got a week to just do _nothing_ in LA before you’re needed in Canada, you send a text to the cast group chat that’s now used mostly for memes.

**(Y/N) Mrs Worthington III:** _lost in LA, anyone wanna give me a tour?_

You _really_ needed to change your nickname, you realise with a frown, but doing so seems like it would cause too much of a scene. You leave it be for now.

**(Alexandra) thor copied ME:** _yes absolutely babes, where u at?_

**(Evan) gotta go fast:** _where in LA?_

**(Evan) gotta go fast:** _nvm you’re lost. right._

**(Y/N) Mrs Worthington III:** _would not say no to more than one tour guide_

**(Alexandra) thor copied ME:** _mini reunion for anyone in town?_

**(Tye) Pink Eye:** _big town_

**(Tye) Pink Eye:** _whatever im free I’ll be there_

**(Y/N) Mrs Worthington III:** _be where tho???_

**(Y/N) Mrs Worthingon III:** _am still v lost_ 😅😅

It ends up being only you four; yourself, Evan, Tye, and Alexandra, since everyone else was already at the reshoots, doing scenes you weren’t needed in, or weren’t anywhere close to LA.

It’s getting into the afternoon by the time people start arriving at the café Evan had suggested; he’s waiting there, the first to arrive, all dark hair and casual confidence, and he greets you with a wide smile and a hug. Small talk mostly consists of what you’ve both been up to, how your various holiday seasons have gone, and projects you’ve got lined up. You’re pretty sure you’re not allowed to talk about _Ready Player One_ until your casting’s announced, so instead you show off photos from _A Streetcar Named Desire._

“I forgot you’ve done a lot of stage stuff,” Evan muses, clearly impressed by the production, and you in it, right around the time Alexandra sends a message apologising for being late.

Which means Tye’s the next to show up.

There’s a moment where your gaze meets his, and he frowns for a beat, tipping his head to the side and giving you a questioning look, which you mirror. Does he know?

“Do you know?” He asks you instead, approaching the table, and your eyebrows raise.

“Do _I_ know? How do _you_ know? I signed this morning –“ but you’re grinning, and he relaxes, pulling out a chair and settling in.

“I signed a week ago, they told me you’d said accepted the role.”

Between you, Evan’s just confused.

“Know what?”

“I don’t think we’re allowed to talk about it yet,” you say slowly, still looking at Tye for confirmation, who nods once.

“A thing coming up,” is all he says, but Evan’s been in the business long enough that he nods with understanding.

It’s kind of nice to have this shared secret, another layer of comradery. Speaking of comradery, when Alexandra arrives, she all but crash tackles you into a hug, overjoyed to see you again, see you _all_ again, and suddenly this foreign land feels much more familiar.

The four of you make your way through LA’s sunny streets, all sporting big, dark glasses and baseball caps, though you’re pretty sure you catch sight of more than one paparazzi trying to sneak a photograph of the four of you. Judging by the sour look on Evan’s face when he follows your gaze, he’d expected this, but still wasn’t pleased by it. You both keep quiet, however, and do your best to enjoy the afternoon as it turned to evening.

You manage to go almost the entire evening without anyone mentioning Ben, and you think you’re in the clear by the time you’d been let into a local club; with the other three with you, and your combined celebrity status, it doesn’t matter that you’re too young to drink, they let you in anyways.

“You still seeing Ben?” Alexandra asks nonchalantly when she puts your drink down in front of you. You’d found a booth and had been watching the dance floor with interest, asking the others to get you drinks so as to not risk getting carded. Sitting beside you, Evan’s texting his girlfriend and doing a very good job of acting like he’s not listening. You’re pretty sure Tye’s either in the bathroom or on the dance floor, but he can handle himself, so you’re not particularly worried.

_They don’t know_ , you realise with slight shock, they don’t know what happened the night of the wrap party, and both you and Ben had kept pretty quiet about it.

“No,” you admit after a moment, and though she tries not to look surprise, Alexandra does seem shocked by the news, “we went out separate ways after filming.”

“But he came and saw your play?” Alexandra’s confusion is clear in her words, and you can’t help but feel the emotions too.

“How do you know about that?”

“He sent me a photo of you in the show.”

“Like when I was on stage?” You ask, more than a little startled.

Alexandra pulls out her phone with a nod, and you wait patiently for her to open up her messages with Ben, and then the photo itself, turning it to face you. There you are, blurry and golden in the light, carrying a suitcase, looking a little lost, right at the start of the play. The angle and the closeness of the photo suggests that he’s in one of the front rows, and trying to hide the fact that he’s taking the photo; he shouldn’t even be taking photos in the first place.

“Cute dress,” Evan compliments mildly by your shoulder, finally looking up from his own phone. You elbow him gently, rolling your eyes.

“I’m gonna kill him,” you announce, finally looking back at a confused Alexandra, “I don’t even know why he was there, I’m pretty sure it was complete coincidence.” You sat back, picking up your drink and taking a long sip. Alexandra actually hesitates, looking at her phone, and then back up at you, but whatever she wants to say, she keeps quiet about, and turns off her phone. The conversation dissolves, you move on to talking about something else.

The following week, you and Alexandra catch the same flight to Montreal, and before you can even pick up your luggage, your phone goes off with an email from some Marvel executive asking for availabilities for the following week, as they need to meet with you.

“Spooky,” Alexandra grins in the back of the company car that had come to pick you up when you show her the email, “did you do something to piss them off?”

“I don’t think so,” you said, voice soft and doubtful. Before you can get too in your own head, however, Alexandra’s hand is on your shoulder, reassuring.

“I was kidding, I’m sure it’s going to be okay.”

And you will come to realise that she’s more right than she knows.

At the hotel, you take comfort falling onto familiar sheets, and let yourself relax and luxuriate for a long few moments. You take a shower, put on your comfiest clothes, and settle in for napping away your travel exhaustion, which you do gladly. Waking at dusk, you hear your phone going off with notifications, and when you check it, you’re greeted with the news that Ben has finally landed in Canada, and that means the last of the main cast have arrived, and James is trying to organise everyone to go out for dinner to celebrate.

With a groan, you roll out of bed and get yourself ready.

Half the cast is already there when you arrive with Alexandra to the private dining area that had been booked out for you all; there’s makeup residue smudged around their eyes, and a weariness in their postures, and you learn quickly that it had been an intensive day of filming. Slowly but surely, the rest begin to trickle in. Most notable of the entrances, at least for you, were Kodi, who bear hugged you, and Oscar, who, when he gets to you, wraps an arm around both you and Alexandra, sitting side by side, and kisses the top of both of your heads, announcing ‘ _it’s good to see my girls again_ ’ in an almost paternal way.

Ben barely acknowledges you. He’s all handshakes and hugs with the rest of the cast, but when he gets to you, his smile gets tight, and he pats you on the head briefly, before moving on quickly to Kodi on your other side, hugging him with a laugh. If anyone notices, they thankfully don’t say anything. You repress the urge to scream.

It’s not a weird night, you won’t _let_ it be weird, and you just try and keep your smile in place as you chatter away with the rest of the cast, who are all buzzing with their own upcoming projects. With bright eyes you talk fondly about _Streetcar_ , barely faltering when you catch Ben giving a gentle smile, watching and listening to you.

“There’s nothing like live theatre,” Michael agrees, “Tennessee Williams really knows his way around words,” and he’s tipping his glass to you in acknowledgement.

“She really did a flippin’ fantastic job,” Ben finally speaks, much to your surprise, looking not at you, but out to the rest of the table, notes of pride in his voice.

“Oh you saw it?” James asks.

“He took a photo _during_ ,” you squawked, “terrible etiquette.” You tutted, shaking your head and folding your arms. There’s an familiar warmth in your chest when you chance a look at him, trying to hide your amusement, and catch him blushing and faintly irritated.

“Alex, you snitched on me?”

Alex raises her hands in surrenduer, but James’ voice is fond and cuts through the mood like a knife.

“It’s lovely to see you two still together,” and it’s as if the temperature in the room drops.

Leaning forward, you’re immediately denying it, voice firm and adamant, all hints of a joke having left it, and across the table, Ben’s essentially echoing you. The rest of the table have quieted down, looking between you both in varying states of bewilderment.

“It was just a coincidence he was there,” you finally voice, and Ben’s words die in his throat. He’s frowning at you, and looks... _confused_?

“What were you guys filming today?” Alex asks, smiling a little too wide at James, Michael, and Jennifer all sitting at the end of the table. The awkward moment, for now, seems forgotten. You and Ben share a look, and he seems to be trying to ask you something with his eyes alone, but for the life of you, you can’t figure out what.

The warmth has left your chest, but it had been enough to remember what you’re missing.

That’s the extent of the conversation you share at dinner, not that you were watching each other occasionally, when you thought no-one was looking. After dinner, most people turn in for the night, however you, Alexandra, Ben, Kodi, and Lana all head out to a pub for a follow up drink, still bubbling with energy. It’s actually _fun_ ; you get into stupid play arguments with Alex about things that don’t matter, and you and Kodi try and stagger through half-remembered choreography, which ends with you overbalancing and almost braining yourself on a bar stool.

“Let’s get you back to the hotel,” Ben’s the one steadying you, hand gentle on your elbow, tone level, and you want to protest, but the world is swimming before your eyes. You nod quietly, head in one hand, rubbing at your sore forehead. You hadn’t thought you were that drunk.

“You don’t need to wait with me, I’ll be fine,” you tell him, sitting on the curb while you wait for the taxi he’d called.

“I’m ready to call it a night too,” he shrugs, before sitting beside you, “and I don’t quite trust you to not fall asleep in the middle of the road; I’ll tuck you in if I have to.”

“I’m not a child,” you tell him flatly, with as much seriousness as you can muster, “you don’t need to _take care of me_ ,” your voice turns acidic, and razor sharp, your while mood souring suddenly as you consider the situation you’d found yourself in, and with whom. Ben’s expression falls.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says gently, looking at his feet, and the smashed beer bottle beside them.

“You don’t owe me shit, Ben,” you tell him, and he looks like he wants to say something, but the words are spilling from you, as if finally uncorked by the alcohol you’d consumed, “in fact, it’s weird. Obviously something about me still isn’t right to you, or you would have contacted me, right? So don’t...” you swallowed hard, kicking at the asphalt, “don’t be cute.”

“Don’t be cute?”

“Don’t be cute with me. Don’t flirt. Don’t get my hopes up –“

“Do you think I’m leading you on?” He asks, disbelieving, and you refuse to look at him.

“I don’t know,” you huffed, drawing your knees up to your chest, resting your chin on them, “I guess I’m warning you before you even start, if you ever were; I’m just trying to be professional.” You say, though you’re sulking a little, and Ben scoffs.

“You’re doing a _great_ job,” you can hear the eye roll in his voice, and wrap your arms around your knees. “I _did_ contact you,” he says, so quiet you barely hear it, but you pretend like you don’t, and hope you remember to think more on that when you’re in a better state of mind.

The taxi arrives, and it’s a short but quiet ride back to the hotel.

“I don’t want us to be mad at each other,” he says in the elevator ride up. You’re still kind of mad, but not at him, just at the situation in general, as well as your quietly and traitorously aching heart; and yet you’ve still tucked your arm in his for support. You know you’re weak, in more ways than one, but he’s also not pushed you away.

You don’t answer, and the words fill the elevator as it quietly moves from floor to floor. You still haven’t acknowledged his words by the time you reach your door, and he goes to pull out of your grip, but you rest your hand on his for a moment.

“I’ve missed you,” and it sounds kind of like you don’t want to admit it, but you have, and Ben’s quiet. You refuse to look at him; he takes a deep breath, and eventually gives your hand a squeeze.

A moment passes. He doesn’t make a move to go, but is silent. You play with your key card in your free hand.

Another moment, and he taps his thumb against your arm. You let yourself breathe, eyes falling closed for a moment as you trace a familiar check mark on the back of his hand.

“Drink water,” he instructs softly, finally stepping away from you. You don’t turn to watch him retreat, you simply open your door and step inside, alone, but a great deal calmer than you’d been.


	15. Chapter 15

Three days before you’re required on set, the Sony and Marvel film executives call you into their Montreal office for a meeting about your future. You feel the excitement settle in your bones the moment you read the email from you manager, uncertain of what it means, but having more than a few suspicions. Things start to make sense; your character’s open ending, the _secret scene_ you’d filmed last year, someone mentioning something about _the stinger_ at the read through back at the beginning of this all.

The only people who know of the meeting, aside from Alexandra, since she’d seen the initial email, though you’re pretty sure she’s forgotten about it, are your friends back home, who have been referring to it as your ‘ _date with Marvel_ ’, which has worked it’s way into your vocabulary, and you’re terrified it’ll slip out around the rest of the cast and crew. You’ve tried to keep your mouth shut around them, unsure of what you are and are not allowed to say, going back to costume fittings and rehearsals, but you can’t help it if you’re glowing with excitement, with _joy_.

_I’m part of a franchise_ , you remember, vaguely, thinking something along those lines back at the beginning, and now it really _means_ something.

So now, here you are, wearing your most flattering and professional outfit, sitting behind a desk with your contract lawyer and manager on either side of you, watching as unsmiling man in a crisp, black suit places a thick stack of paper in front of you.

“We at Marvel are currently working to bring a – what _we_ deem to be – underutilized property to the big screen,” he explains, while your lawyer reads over the contract, “and with Cassidy Temple’s history in the comics and cartoons, and your performance in the role exceeding out expectations, we’ve begun development on a sequel we think will benefit from having you in a more central role.”

_Central role_. There’s a ringing in your ears all of a sudden, and you work to keep your expression neutral as the excitement and nervousness _explode_ within you.

“You want me to be a lead?” You clarify, and your lawyer looks to you sharply, before turning to the executive. The executive’s expression doesn’t betray any of his thoughts, but he turns to one of the many Marvel and-slash-or Sony executives watching you all like hawks, and one on the end nods in silent confirmation.

“Yes.”

“In what capacity?” You hear your lawyer beside you, but your mind is a million miles away, screaming and jumping up and down. Gaze glassy, you hear them begin to discuss the logistics of what this will mean for your paycheck, what your commitments will be, technical jargon that goes over your head. When there’s a lull, however, and amendments are being made to the contract, the quiet scratching of pen on paper filling the room, suddenly deafening in the silence, you find your voice.

“How will it work; in _Apocalypse_ , my future is open ended, isn’t it? Am I reformed? Do you guys know that yet?” Every eye turns to you, and you swallow hard.

“We have a team developing the story for the as-yet-untitled future X-Men project, however they’re working to adapt, at least in part, the early 2000s _Riot Control_ arc of the comics.”

“I’m not going to be the hero, am I?” There’s the beginnings of a smile twitching at the edge of your lips, and there’s not even a hint of disappointment in your voice, rather, you’re tone is full of anticipation. Finally, the executive cracks a smile, raising his head just a little as he meets your gaze, a hint of a proud smile of his own gracing his face.

“No, Miss Y/L/N, at this stage, you are the next villain.”

You are joining the ranks of Colonel Stryker, Sabertooth, Apocalypse, and pretty much every version of Magneto. The grin you wear is _blinding_.

First _Ready Player One_ , now this.

When it rains, it pours.

And then you’re signing, committing yourself to this franchise, to this direction your future’s decided to take. Later that afternoon, you’ve got new script pages in your inbox from the director, _the stinger_ , no longer a secret. It starts, not at the mountain base, but instead at the Xavier Academy, where Control’s somehow been detained;

Peter calls out to Cassidy, asking if she’s seen his Walkman, but his voice falters; Control seems to be in her own world, relaxed and cross-legged, humming _Everybody Wants To Rule The World_ by Tears for Fears. When Peter turns the corner of the glass cage, gets closer, he sees the tell tale, illuminated tattoos along her hands and face, and when he rounds the corner, she’s smiling wide, eerily, eyes swallowed by darkness. There’s a panel out of place in the glorified glass cage, and though it means she’s free, she doesn’t seem inclined to leave. Technically she already has. The clone is still humming.

Peter calls out to the Professor, worried, but that’s when it cuts to the mountain base; there’s more details now, more of an explanation; the figure that you’d been told was meant to represent the thing you wanted most in life, you know now that it’s a symbiote; it’s _Riot_.

And you’re carrying one of Warren’s feathers.

Something about that hits you square in the chest;

_Interior, mountain base, night,_ the scene header reads. _EVERYBODY WANTS TO RULE THE WORLD by Tears for Fears now begins playing as though from a tape recorder. It’s claustrophobic as it’s ever been, the green, concrete walls splattered with blood from WOLVERINE’s earlier rampage, lit still by red alarm lights on the walls, and occasionally flickering fluorescent. We’re looking down a single corridor at a worm’s eye view. It looks almost the same as the rest of the base, though there’s a body wearing a lab coat at the end of the hall, and there’s a single door along the righthand side, halfway down, that is shining with bright, white light._

_CONTROL steps over the camera, we see her boots first walking down, then the rest of her, and she’s wearing what looks to be QUICKSILVER’s CASSETTE PLAYER – the source of the music. Her left hand is trailing blood, carrying one of ANGEL’S METAL FEATHERS._

_We see a close shot of her peering into the room, bathed in the same white light, and as she presses her BLOODY HAND and METAL FEATHER to the glass. We see what appears to be a hand, made of SILVER SINEW and GOO climb the other side of the glass, until it’s hand-like shape meets Control’s, the rest of it trailing down the glass and out of shot. We see Control become excited, and she pulls back and braces herself while a clone suddenly surges forth and punches the glass, shattering the glass instantly._

_And then the clone’s gone, and Cassidy looks with excitement at the shattered glass, and at the amorphous, VAGUELY HUMAINOID shape on the other side, shiny and ugly and constantly moving, like barely contained liquid. A symbiote. RIOT._

_The creature holds up it’s hand to where the glass had been, and Cassidy raises her hand to meet it; the moment their hands touch, there’s a close-up of the angle, revealing a plaque, splattered with blood, so the only letters that can be read are SYMBI-T- C--TR-L._

_The creature suddenly and violently grasps Cassidy’s hand, and pulls her into the white room._

_Cut to black._

And you know, before you even speak to the director, why your character was at the facility. You’re looking for a way to bring Warren back. One way or another, you’d heard one of the X-Men, or possibly even Moira, the CIA agent, discuss the facility where mutants had been experimented on, and figure it’s the first place to try and find something that would bring back your lost love.

Every other Horseman got to survive; it felt _unfair_ that he didn’t get to as well.

When you bring the thought to the director, he’s already agreeing, beaming.

Sitting down in the makeup chair, hearing the eighties rock and pop playlist the makeup artists have playing, it feels like coming home. The prosthetics feel like a second skin rather than an inconvenience, and even your contact lenses are a welcome discomfort.

“I forgot how spooky you look,” Evan says when you finally get out of wardobe and onto set, but his voice is so fond, and you grin broadly. You’re the only two cast members on set today, but it’s good to see him in full costume again.

“I’m still so mad you can pull off a silver wig so well,” there’s an easy confidence about the way you speak, the way you move, the way you act, and part of that is the character, is the way Control’s mindset influences your behaviour, but there’s also a newfound sense of security, of belonging now that you have a guaranteed future with the company. You don’t feel like the odd one out, you don’t feel like you’re one wrong move away from being fired, you feel _at home_.

Confidence is a good look on you.

“Y/N, get over here,” between takes, Evan pulls out his phone and waves over yourself, and one of the assistants who was looking for something to do. You pose together for a photo, and he sends it to the cast group chat.

[ _coolest kids back on campus_ ]

After lunch, however, Evan’s finished for the day, and you’re brough over to the soundstage where they’ve recreated the mountain base. You’re the only character in this scene, unless you could the green-suit Symbiote. They hand you a detailed and blunt metal feather prop, and fit a device on you that allows it to seem like blood is dripping from your hand; once they call _action_ , you activate it, and start your journey down the corridor towards the light.

Over and over.

Cut, reset.

The blood trail is cleaned from the floor.

Until the walk is perfect.

They change songs, since the actual music is going to be added in post, so you’re bopping along to what seems to be a playlist of strangely appropriate eighties songs. _Maneater. Maniac. Hungry Like the Wolf. Thriller. Tainted Love._ During a break, yourself, the director, the man in the green-suit, and a few of the makeup assistants have an impromptu dance party to _I’m So Excited_ by the Pointer Sisters, and the song fills you up from your tips of your ears to the tips of your toes; it’s fitting. One of the camera men is still filming, which you’re all aware of, belting the lyrics of the chorus as they come up.

“ _I’m so excited, and I just can’t hide it!_ ” Yourself, the director, the man in the green-suit, and the assistants cry in a dismal but energetic chorus, “ _I’m about to lose control and I think I like it!_ ”

The song comes to an end, and you all share a moment, a smile, a laugh, and then someone’s bringing you water, and one of the makeup assistants is touching up your prosthetics, and the scene is being reset again.

They’ve got more sugar glass for you to leave a bloody hand print on, and break over and over again, and finally the camera’s focusing on your face, bathed in fluorescent lights. When you look at the man in the green-suit, you realise you really are looking at your future, he’s _Riot_ , he’s the thing that pulls you into the film, into being a part of the franchise for real.

You make yourself desperate to get to him, hungry for opportunity, excited for your future.

When you punch through the glass, when you finally get to touch the Symbiote, you make sure that there’s no fear or doubt within you, only delight and vindication radiating from you, as you take his hand, let yourself get pulled into the bright, white room.

When the director calls _cut, that’s a wrap on this scene_ , he seems overjoyed by your work, seems almost baffled by how easy and smoothly the day went, considering all the moving parts – _the blood, the glass, the green-suit_. But you shrug, hands in your pockets, taking his compliments with a humble smile. He gives pause, looks you over, sees the relaxed set of your shoulders and the carefully casual stance you’re holding, and he gives a strange little smile.

“You seem different.”

“ _Good_ different, I hope,” is your immediate answer, and he seems taken aback; that wouldn’t have been your answer six months ago, you’re both suddenly aware. You’re more settled now. _Good_ different indeed.

Over the next few days, as you start filming more scenes with the rest of the cast, they start to see it too. You’re joking with everyone on set, cast and crew alike, not just the Horsemen.

There’s a moment of hesitation before your first scene with Ben, the scene where Magneto’s being telepathically contacted by Charles, and the rest of the Horsemen are being given their armor by Apocalypse. It’s one of earlier scenes you’d filmed the first time around, still trying desperately to remain subtle, but, seeing as even Alexandra had been a little skeptical, failing desperately.

And the director wanted you to bring that sort of energy again.

So when you step foot on set, wearing your full Horseman armor for the first time in months, and you see your fellow cast members all doing various vocal and physical warmups to the best of their abilities in costume, you feel yourself hesitate.

Ben pauses, and raises his eyebrows at you. Without thinking, you jump into a stupid pose, and Ben laughs, breaking the tension in an instant.

“Bloody hell, I’ve missed you,” he snorts as you make your way over to them all.

“Of course you did,” you answer loftily, throwing him a wink, which he seems surprised about, immediately turning pink around the ears, wearing a kind of shocked grin. He’s used to your confidence in-character, but this… this is _new_. This is _nice_.

There’s a balancing act going on in your mind, trying not to overstep your boundaries in this _very_ new and tenuous friendship you’ve found yourself in with Ben. He’d said he’s not trying to lead you on, so you’re doing your best to not make him think you’re into him, make him feel guilty for being your friend; your feelings, that refuse to die, aren’t his fault.

It feels good to be friends again, to be able to reach for him and know he’ll be there. Next to him whenever you all go out together, arms around each other on set, after months of _nothing_ , how easy is it to fall back into something close to your old dynamic.

“I never told you this,” you’re not sure why you’re bringing it up now, walking back to your respective hotel rooms after a long day of filming, but the thought had occurred to you in the elevator, in the silence, “but you’re part of the reason I stuck with acting this long.”

“What?” He asks, a little disbelieving, slowing with you as you got to your door.

“Yeah,” you shrug, pulling out your key card, “you’re the one who gave me the advice to follow through and commit to the bit; it made me stick out in my theater classes, and I started getting main roles, and,” you gave another shrug, opening the door, stepping in, “I was never someone who did it for the attention, but a lot of people started telling me I was doing a good job, so I stuck with it.” You don’t close the door, but you toe off your shoes, and turn to see him watching you, quiet, a little awed.

“Seriously? When?”

This is where you hesitate, frowning a little.

“Are you going to freak out and yell?”

Ben’s whole expression sours at the memory of what happened last time you’d mentioned your shared past. He shakes his head, and you swallow hard, sitting back on your bed.

“Well, I think it was the first time we’d met; you had a broken leg, which I only remember because you’d broken it –“

“Playing _Spacejump_ ,” Ben says softly, his expression turning gentle. You smile a little wider at that, nodding.

“I thought you were _so cool_ , you know? But I was kind of a theater dork already at that stage.”

Neither of you are sure what to say, but Ben’s leaning in your doorframe with his arms crossed, looking like he’s on the edge of voicing a thought, but like he’s thinking better of it. He doesn’t, however, seem weirded out this time, and it eases something you hadn’t realized had been tense in your chest.

“You know your mum invited me to your show, right?” The words get the better of him, and you choke on your next breath.

“She _what_?!”

“Well I was home for Christmas, she invited my family, and that included me; lovely lady –“

“Ben…” there’s about your voice that sounds like you’re _hurting_ and you’re not sure why, but you feel strangely betrayed.

“I’m glad she invited me,” he’s quick to amend, stepping into the room with his hands reaching, though he seems to think better of it and stuffs them in his pockets, looking out of the window, “really glad, actually,” and the way he says, it’s like there’s more he’s barely holding back, but it seems this time he doesn’t let them slip.

“Do you think I could hack it as a professional stage actor?” He asks instead, and you swallow hard, trying to process his words, head swimming with the emotions you’re trying to keep under control.

“Of course, if you set your mind to it,” you say, mouth dry, “commit to the bit, follow through and all that.” Hearing his own words parroted back at him, after all this time, his expression is fond, and your heart _aches_. You want to reach for him, ask what it all _means_ , but you _can’t_. He’s the one who instigated the split; he has to be the one to make the first move. “I’d come see it, you’d have at least one person in the audience,” you give a weak smile.

“Appreciate it,” he tells you, and takes a deep breath, looking around, as if remembering where he is. He starts to back out of the room.

“Wait-“ you call, a new thought occurring to you, “does this mean you _knew_ I was in the show before you saw it.” Ben frowns with confusion.

“Yeah, obviously,” like it’s the simplest thing in the world. When you go quiet, he leaves without another word, closing the door behind him, leaving you to your thoughts. It takes a while, but finally you come to a realization, though it only serves to confuse you further.

He could have very easily never let you know that he was in the audience. He didn’t need to text you. He wouldn’t have needed to bring it up when he saw you again. You never would have known. He _definitely_ didn’t have to tell you that _your mother_ invited him, especially since you’d made it clear you hadn’t known; you wouldn’t have insisted it was a coincidence if your mother had told you. And he _absolutely_ had _no need_ to confirm that he knew you were in it before he’d accepted the invite; it could have still conceivably been a coincidence. But what does it _mean_?

It means he wants you to know that he was at _your show_ on purpose.


	16. Chapter 16

The news breaks on Deadline, and then subsequently explodes all over Twitter, at nine in the morning on your final day of reshoots.

[ _Tye Sheridan and Y/N Y/L/N set to co-star in Steven Speilberg’s ‘Ready Player One’_ ] the article reads, and soon, everyone on set is buzzing with it, to which you, bemused and half asleep, smile and politely accept their congratulations. You’ve been up since five in the morning, filming since seven, and are yet to even touch your own phone to read what’s been published. Tye isn’t even on set.

Ben is surprisingly quiet on the whole situation, though at first you’re pretty sure he hasn’t heard the news; all the crew know, but it’s slower getting around the cast. A makeup artist is touching up his cheek tattoos while in a break, and you’re downing water like your life depends on it, and when you turn, she’s talking, and he’s watching you with pride in his eyes.

You give an awkward wave. The makeup artist pauses to see what Ben’s chuckling at. Then they’re both watching you with an expression you can only describe as _awed_. Something in your chest flares bright and pleased, and you give a goofy grin back; they’re both laughing now, but it’s not unkind.

“ _Spielberg,_ ” Ben whistles low when you get back to him, and the makeup assistant has absconded to help Oscar.

“Today _X-Men_ , tomorrow the world,” you shrugged, trying to play it cool, but Ben throws his arm around you.

“That’s my girl,” he grins, and for a moment, you lose the ability to speak. Before he can catch on, however, the director calls for everyone to get into position to start shooting again.

 _We have to celebrate,_ is the general consensus among the cast, who were already planning on celebrating the end of filming amongst themselves at lunch tomorrow, before the wrap party the following night, but now, not only were they celebrating an ending, but a new opportunity, a new beginning.

The last day of filming, apart from the news, is more fun than you’d been expecting it to be. It’s a long day, going over the scene where the Horsemen come to the academy and kidnap Charles, the scene where Control takes Alex Summer’s laser to the chest, and promptly detonates, killing him and destroying the school. Somewhere in the back of your mind, around lunch, you find yourself amused by the idea that in this film, you kill Tye’s character’s brother, and in Ready Player One, you’re going to be romancing him.

Honestly, you thought you’d be more disappointed or upset that _Apocalypse_ was coming to an end, but there’s an underlying current among the cast and crew of _‘this is not the last time we’ll be seeing one another_ ’, and for that you’re thankful. You’ve got the premiere to look forward to, and quietly, the next film. That still sends you reeling when you think about it too much.

 _You’re the next villain._ It still makes your heart skip a beat.

You’ve avoided looking at your phone all day once you’d heard that the news had broken, and unsurprisingly, when you finally check it while your prosthetics are being removed, there’s an overwhelming amount of notifications.

There’s five voice messages from _each_ of your friends in the _Most Trusted Advisors_ group chat, though, granted, three of Andrew’s included Jamie being loud in the background. Your mother had sent congratulations, as did thousands of people on Twitter and Instagram. Of course more than a few strangers online don’t take too kindly to the news, casting aspersions on your talent, but you try not to look at them, and block anyone talking too negatively.

There’s talks amongst the cast about going out that night, but everyone who had been on set, yourself especially, just want a quiet night in. You’re pretty sure you’ve earned a good night’s sleep.

The next day you sleep in late enough that getting ready for lunch is done in a rush; it’s thankfully just a casual affair, a private room booked in a nice local restaurant you’d all frequented before. You’re the last to arrive, but the cast is more than excited to see you, and you take your seat, unsurprisingly, between Alex and Ben. You’re going to miss your little team, you realise, with a sudden sadness at the thought, and while Alex is in the middle of a story, you lean over and rest your head on her shoulder, and without thinking or even stopping speaking, she reaches up and fondly pets your cheek. Beneath the table, you reach over and give Ben’s knee a squeeze, and he pets your hand in response.

They understand; none of you say anything, but you all understand.

You get ready for the actual wrap party with Alex, laying on her bed and watching as she applies her makeup, while you’re already dressed. You’re wearing the same outfit as the first wrap party, last year; you hadn’t stayed long enough that time for everyone to appreciate it, so you were more than happy to wear it again.

It’s _nothing_ like last time.

This time you’re not dwelling on your sort-of break up, you’re allowed to have _fun_ , to dance and sing and drink and laugh. At one point, you catch Tye, who’s also bright eyed and enjoying the night, and your enthusiasm bubbles over at the sight of him, your reality finally settling in when you see him, a feeling he seems to mirror, grinning wide and bright in return, and the two of you get a photo together. You’ve got your arms around each other, and he’s pressing a grin to your temple, both of your faces scrunched up with uninhibited joy.

[ _just two kids gettin cast in 80s themed movies together_ @itstyesheridan #XmenApocalypse #ReadyPlayerOne] you caption the photo on your Instagram story, and Tye reposts it a few moments later. Tomorrow, you know the photo will be everywhere online, but right now, you don’t care.

“I’m so excited, dude,” you’ve got your hands on his shoulders, trying desperately to maintain eye contact with him, “ _dude_ , can you believe -?!”

“It’s going to- Y/N, we’re gonna kick ass,” he rests his hands firmly on your shoulders, though it’s a little awkward, but neither of you really mind, just mindlessly babbling to each other with excitement, “ _Spielberg,_ Y/N, I can’t – he’s _a legend_!”

“I know!” You exclaim with delight.

It’s the most you two have spoken during this whole process, since the conversation ends up being almost half an hour long, drunkenly enthusing about your favourite eighties movies, wondering what characters and references would be included in the film, only surfacing when Alex and Sophie come around, pulling you both back to the dance floor, claiming you’re missing all the fun.

And then there’s Ben.

He never crowds you, never hogs your attention, but if you want to find him, you always can. When you get tipsy and affectionate, leaning into him, telling him he’s _almost_ the best screen-boyfriend you could ask for, he gets all pink around the ears, pressing his lips together in a wry smile, abstaining from whatever comment he seems like he wants to make. Maybe it’s not fair on your part, maybe it’s a little tongue-in-cheek, a little _too_ teasing, but Ben takes another sip of his drink.

“I’ll take it,” he finally decides upon, which isn’t the response you’d expected.

He doesn’t, for the record, dance. Which is terribly boring to your current state of mind, but thankfully, Alexandra does, so you dance with her, and Kodi, sometimes Sophie and Jennifer, or even Oscar or Evan, and once with Tye. 

It’s a mix of music spanning all the way from the seventies to modern hits; you’re butchering _I Wanna Dance With Somebody_ at the top of your lungs with Alexandra and James McAvoy, and you catch Ben watching you all, something strangely soft in his gaze, not that you’re able to read anything into in your current state. Instead, your grin widens, and you throw your arm out to point at him dramatically, beckoning him over.

“ _Yeah, I wanna dance with somebody~!_ ”

He laughs, but shakes his head, even as you give an exaggerated pout. Alexandra catches what you’re doing, and follows your gaze, her own smile widening, and soon both her and James are either side of you, all waving Ben over and singing at the top of things. Ben turns pink, throwing you a helpless look as the three of you declared that you wanted to dance with somebody who loves you. You blow him a kiss, but drop your arm, pulling the other two to dancing in your own little world. When you look back, Ben’s gone.

As the night’s coming to a close, he finds you again; you and Alexandra are arm in arm, playing a game where you try and step on each other’s feet while waiting for the next company car.

“You both okay?” Ben seems marginally more sober than either of you. _Marginally_. His voice distracts you enough for Alexandra to get the advantage, stepping hard on your toes, and you go to shove her with your free hand, forgetting that you’ve still got your other arm looped in hers, and you both go stumbling to the side, almost falling, if not for Ben catching you by the shoulder.

“Hey, _woah,_ ” he half laughed, righting you both. You don’t even think before you link your free arm in his. It feels secure between them, a thought which you voice with a surprising amount of conviction given your current state.

“You’re adorable,” Alexandra tells you, trying to pinch your cheek with her free hand, and the only thing you can think to do to protect yourself is press your face against Ben’s shoulder. She still pinches your cheek, and you shriek, but don’t move, “she’s _so_ cute.” Alexandra coos, but she’s not talking to you. Ben laughs softly.

“Far too cute for her own good,” Ben agrees, just as the car pulls up, and all three of you climb into the back seat. After you’re all strapped in, Alexandra takes your hand, and you instinctively take Ben’s. He taps his thumb against your hand, and you hum happily, shifting to rest your head against his shoulder when you trace a check mark against his palm with your index finger out of habit.

Alexandra’s room, as it always has been, is the first in your row of rooms, one right after the other, and she lets herself in with a sigh of relief, collapsing on her bed before the door’s even fully closed. Next is yours, and you’re patting down your pockets, looking for your elusive key card when Ben speaks up, tone wry.

“If Tye’s a better screen-boyfriend, you can keep that to yourself,” he tells you, and you freeze, before looking at him, eyebrows raised.

“What?” You almost laugh, and Ben’s expression looks more amused than anything.

“You heard me.”

“Is that something you’re really worried about?” You find the key card in your back pocket, but you don’t open the door.

“He’s a handsome dude, if he’s _also_ a better at that than me, it might break my heart,” he chuckled, but he’s not looking at you; something about his words seems to be a little bit too honest.

You don’t plan on falling in love with Tye, you think with an eye roll you can’t surpress, so you’re pretty sure he could never compare to Ben, not that you’d ever say _that_ out loud, even when drunk.

“He won’t be,” you say instead, flat and honest, opening your door and ending the conversation swiftly. If Ben looks to you, equal parts confused and strangely hopeful, you pretend not to see it as you head inside.

You don’t have a lot of down time, however; you spend a week luxuriating in Montreal before you fly back to England for a costume fitting. It’s nice to be home, but life becomes a little hectic; you’ve got press for _Apocalypse_ amid preproduction duties for _Ready Player One_.

All of a sudden, you seem to be spending all your time with Tye, not that you’re complaining, he’s perfectly lovely, but six months ago you could only be called _friends_ using the loosest definition of the word. He’s in fittings with you, in meetings about character designs, and how the full-body mapping would be working.

But it’s easy to be friends with Tye; his humour is dry, but he always seems to be the first to laugh at a joke, even if it’s quiet. When you both get the script, you spend long nights poring over it, sending each other photos with some of your favourite pieces of dialogue, or favourite references.

[ _gunter is a horrific word I cannot believe it’s in here like twenty times_ ] [ _there are infinitely better ways you can shorten ‘egg hunter’_ ] you send, along with a selfie where you’re wearing the most anguished face you can manage; you’re putting on a show of discomfort for his amusement, but your horror at the word is far too real.

[ **what would you prefer? eggheads?** ]

[ _YES_ ]

He’s amused enough by the situation that he starts to call you _Gunter_ out of spite, which shortens to _Gun,_ both in person, and online, to which you retaliate by almost exclusively calling him _Egghead_. They’re honestly terrible nicknames, but you’re both too amused by them to stop. It’s the basis for a solid friendship that’s strangely antagonistic in a way you both enjoy. You mock each other endlessly, bantering easily, but always the first to voice your support when the other brings up an idea in a meeting.

You talk to him _often_ , probably more than you talk to Alexandra, or even Ben, who – _thankfully ­–_ you’ve kept up communication with this time around.

That being said, they’re both in town too, relatively speaking. Ben’s filming in Ireland, _Mary Shelly_ , he tells you with excitement, which you mirror, showering him with congratulations, and Alexandra was in London working on _Spinning Man_. Occasionally, you all get lunch together, it feels like old times.

So it’s nice to get back into the studio with them all, when MTV comes calling about an interview with the release of _Apocalypse_ just around the corner.

It’s like a reunion, the four of you; Tye, Alexandra, yourself, and Ben, dressed to impress by a stylist, sitting in a line against a dark grey background with the movie’s title emblazoned upon it, joking and laughing with the interviewer as the cameraperson and sound operator get all the tech sorted.

“How long has it been since you’ve all seen each other? Since filming?” The interviewer asks with a smile, and you’re all quick to disagree, explaining that you’ve kept in contact, that you still hang out, “that’s right, Y/N and Tye, you’re filming together now, aren’t you?”

“We’re not filming yet; still in preproduction,” you clarified, “but we’ve seen a lot of each other in that time.” Tye, on your left, turns with a smirk that only means terrible things.

“Yeah, but you look less like an overgrown Muppet than usual today, _Gun,_ ” he teases, and you roll your eyes.

“Watch it, _Egghead_ , you’re only here to make me look good,” you respond, to which the interviewer looks like she’s trying to not let the surprise show on her face, “I promise we do actually like each other,” you told her flatly.

“We’re paid to,” Tye adds, and you can’t help but bark a laugh, shoving him.

“Shut up, people are going to think you’re serious,” you warned, and he gave you a bright grin, but you move on quickly, turning fond and pleased as you explain that you’ve kept in touch with your fellow Horsemen. Ben claps you on the shoulder, grinning, and almost like it’s a reflex, or instinct, he taps his thumb against you; you reach up and rest your hand on his for the barest moment, tracing a check mark.

Question. Confirmation.

Something’s shining in his eyes, even as he moves his hand away.

The questions start soon after, now that everything’s set up; they ask about filming, which scene was the toughest, which was your favourite, any moments the fans should be looking forward to, any scenes that didn’t make the final cut; you’ve been told of some, but none that you were a part of, apparently. Then comes the games, the most notable of which is _Snog, Marry, Avoid._

“Magneto, Apocalypse, Professor X; _snog, marry, avoid?_ ” The interviewer offers.

“Marry Magneto,” you answer probably too quickly, and there’s a moment of silence before the other three burst out laughing.

“You just had that ready to go, didn’t you?” Alexandra practically cackles, but you refuse to show shame.

“He is shown – _spoilers_ –“ you warn the interviewer, “he was _shown_ to be a _great_ husband, _and_ father, _and_ he looks like Michael Fassbender. Marry Magneto.” You turn your nose up, crossing your arms, as if daring anyone to prove you wrong. After a beat, however, you finish your rankings; “snog Apocalypse and avoid Professor X.”

“Avoid Prof-?“ Tye scoffs, though you cut him off.

“I don’t _vibe_ with telepaths; my thoughts are my business,” you say with an air of finality.

“You know telepaths aren’t real, right?” Tye stage whispers, holding back his laughter, and you poke your tongue out at him in response.

“I’d probably - I dunno,” Ben muses; he straightens up from where he’s been doubled over in his seat with laughter, and casually leans back in his chair, slinging his arm across the back of your chair as he considers, “I think I’d snog Magneto and marry Professor X –“

“And avoid Apocalypse,” Tye nods in understanding, which Ben confirms, before he considers, “I think I’d avoid Magneto, actually; marry Professor X and snog… I guess that means I’d snog Apocalypse.” He says with a slight grin; “Oscar’s a handsome man.” He conceded.

“I’m with you on that one,” Alexandra agrees, “but I’d marry Apocalypse; dude is _almighty_ , and then snog X and avoid Magneto.”

“Seems like we’ve got one of every option here,” the interviewer laughed brightly, “alright, now, we asked Sophie and Evan to pick out of you three Horsemen, but that hardly seems fair with all three of you here.” She laughed.

“We could just make Tye pick and judge him,” Alexandra offered, and you had to stifle a laugh behind your hand. Ben’s hand is warm against your back where the camera can’t see, his fingers dancing a faint and inconsistent patters against your shoulder blade.

“That’s not fair, I have to marry Y/N, we still work together –“ Tye protested.

“And if you don’t I’ll cry,” you offered mildly, turning and giving a blithe smile. He turned back, his gaze meeting yours; he’s trying not to smile, you can tell.

“That’s not a real deterrent;” he turns back to the camera, “marry Angel.” He says with conviction. Ben’s fingers twitch and still, laying flat on your shoulder blade as he throws his head back with laughter.

“You’re so mean to me,” you play at being offended, while the other two Horsemen are delightedly amused beside you, and Tye turns back, eyebrows raised, now outright grinning.

“The other week you called me _weird looking and pretentious_ ,” and yeah, okay, he’s got you there. It had been a joke, all insults the pair of you passed back and forth were well established as jokes, and you can see in his eyes that he hasn’t taken it to heart, and neither have you.

“’cos you are,” you respond sweetly, before facing the interviewer, “can I avoid Cyclops?”

“That’s not even an option!” Tye protests loudly.

“I’m avoiding Cyclops.” You announce; Ben’s tracing something on your shoulder blade, but you can’t concentrate enough to figure out what it is. The interviewer moves on, asking you _Quicksilver, Beast, or Wolverine?_

You’re not quite sure how much of the footage will be used in the video, which is set to come out after the film’s premiere, but it’s fun to be with them all again, to talk about the film that had been such a huge part of your life for the past year.

Once it’s over you thank the interviewer, and head back to wardrobe to change back into your street clothes. You suggest getting coffee, and the others are more than happy to oblige, to catch up.

There’s a little café you’ve been dying to try in the city, and the four of you fit neatly into a booth in the back, you and Ben on one side, Tye and Alexandra on the other.

“Is it weird that she killed your brother in _Apocalypse_ and now you guys are gonna be in love?” Alexandra asks, eyebrows raised; you snort, and Tye’s goes amusingly dead-eyed when he smiles.

“Light of my life, bane of my existence.”

You blow him a kiss; he catches it and then uses the same hand to flip you off, a gesture you mirror.

It’s _fine_ , the café is _great,_ and it’s nice to see each other again, of course, but sometimes when you and Tye share a quick joke, Ben gets this weird, blank look which no-one else seems to notice, and when you silently ask him if he’s okay in the way you two do, your hand on his thigh beneath the table, he hesitates before answering. He’s fine, at least that’s what the gesture implies, but he doesn’t seem it.

But you can’t ask here.

When you all go your separate ways for the day, it’s… _strange_.

[ _it was good to see you_ ] You don’t know what else to send, but Ben’s response is quick.

[ **good to see you too** ]

[ _are you okay btw? You seemed weird at lunch_ ]

[ **just in my own head abt stuff don’t worry** ]

[ _ok._ ] [ _if u ever wanna talk im here xx_ ]

[ **you’re far too sweet you know that?** **😅💖** ]

[ _only to u. don’t tell anyone_ 😘]

As you consider the day, you begin to piece things together that make your heart beat hard, that get your hopes up like you _know_ you shouldn’t. Because if it’s not true, you’re breaking your own heart over _the same boy_ again.

 _However_ , if you didn’t know any better, you’d swear that Ben was _jealous_.


	17. Chapter 17

“Mother I have a very serious question,” once you consider the possibility that Ben might still have feelings for you, you realise you need to clear something up, “do you have a thing for my ex?” You asked the Sunday before the premiere. Your mother, for her part, has the decency to look equal parts amused and scandalised.

“Why are you asking?” It’s _not_ a no, and your eyebrows raise out of surprise. She’s making herself tea in the kitchen, moving automatically as she takes in your crossed arms in the kitchen doorway.

“I’m trying to figure out why you’d invite him to my show without telling me,” you say, and finally she stops. The sound of the kettle boiling fills the sudden silence. Your mother avoids your gaze for a long while, looking at the teacup in her hands.

“For the record, I’m allowed to have celebrity crushes,” she begins, a little defensive, and you want to protest, but she looks up, something softly apologetic in her eyes, “but how I feel about Mister Beale as a character does not extend to Ben himself, _no_.” She clarifies, and the indignance that had been building in your chest begins to dissipate.

“I never intended on it being a secret,” she says slowly, her movements starting back up as the kettle’s boiled, moving on autopilot, “but I suppose it was a little bit,” she hesitates, as if she doesn’t quite want to admit the next word, “ _spiteful_ , against him, not you sweetheart,” she’s quick to reassure you, and you uncross you arms, stepping into the kitchen, sitting at the table, now more confused than anything else. Your mother offers to make you a tea, which you quietly accept.

There’s quiet for a long moment; you’re looking at your hands, listening to the familiar and domestic sounds of your mother’s rote tea routine.

“Spiteful?” Finally, you ask.

“You’re the most talented person I know,” your mother says like it’s fact, which to her, it is; something in your chest tightens, “and every moment I grow more proud of you; I never in my life thought I’d have such a wonderful young woman as my daughter.” And she places your favourite, chipped mug in front you, the tea bag steeping in hot water. “You are far and away my greatest achievement, and I,” she pauses, “I’ll admit, the idea that someone took you for granted, it hurt; it hurts me to think that you’re hurting. I know you’re all grown up, but you’re still my daughter,” when you look up, look at her, there’s pride and love written all over her face, and her hand moves to gently rest on your head, “my talented, caring, _wonderful_ daughter.”

“Thanks, mum,” there’s a lump in your throat all of a sudden, and you have to look to your tea to hide the tears clouding your vision. Thankfully, she’s moving again, getting the milk and sugar to place on the table for you to help yourself.

“He never took me for granted,” you tell her, voice rough, and she makes a quiet noise in the back of her throat.

“I know,” she says after a moment, finally sitting across from you, “I know Ben’s not like that, but I –“ she gave a self-deprecating chuckle, “I thought he was a bit of an idiot for leaving you.”

“How do you know he-“

“Sweetheart, you spent a _month_ in America ignoring ninety percent of my calls and working yourself half to death,” she tells you flatly, and your mouth snaps shut, “and when you _did_ finally come home, I still barely saw you, you were always off working,” she gave pause, “I admire your ambition, of course, but I know when you’re working to avoid thinking about something else; remember when you agreed to play Juliet in a _professional production_ whilst also doing your GSCEs?” She reminded you, and okay, she’s got you there.

“You didn’t stop me,” you countered, and she gives a fond smile.

“Because I’ll never stop you doing what you love. I’ll always support you, darling, my greatest joy in life is being able to watch you perform,” she gives a quiet laugh, taking out her teabag and adding milk, “when I watch you up on stage, well you just take my breath away.”

You’re going to cry into your tea, you can feel it.

“So I wanted to show Ben what he was missing out on,” she says, tone suddenly matter-of-fact, “because I don’t know what happened, but I know that when you spend every day with someone in such an intense situation, like filming a movie, you might start to forget why you liked them in the first place, and only focus on the little things that irritate you and build up over time; can’t see the forest for the trees.” Which isn’t exactly what happened with you and Ben, but it’s the thought that counts. You take out your teabag to give your hands something to do, adding as much sugar and milk as you usually do.

“I simply wanted to remind him of what you’re capable of,” she tells you, “and _maybe_ to show him he was a bit of a fool.” After a beat, she took a long, pointed sip of her tea, smile turning sharp as she lowered the cup, “and for the record, I simply made the offer, he didn’t have to say yes.”

The thing is, you can’t actually talk to anyone about your suspicions, because you don’t want to look like a fool in front of your fellow actors in case your suspicions are wrong, but you can’t talk to your friends from home because they don’t know Ben himself as well as your costars do.

[ _hey is it just me or has ben been acting kind of weird_??] You finally bite the bullet and message Alexandra only a few days before the premiere. It doesn’t take her long to respond.

[ **I guess? I mean he’s always kind of like that** ] [ **why** ]

[ _idk I feel like a highschooler talking abt it_ ]

[ **are you guys fucking again** ]

[ _no_ ]

[ **wait fr?** ] [ **like forreal forreal?** ]

[ _yeah serious_ ]

[ **askhudksjhd yeah no hes being weird** ]

[ _wHAT DO YOU MEAN_ ]

[ **the real question is why are you guys still acting like youre in love if youre not** ]

[😮😮😮]

[ **are you seriously not aware?** ] [ **Y/N YOU’RE KILLING ME** ] [ **I lov you and ben so much but you’re both SO FUCKING DUMB 😂😂😂** ]

You’re _reeling_ with the implications, and also still kind of feel like a fool for being so oblivious, but no matter how much you want to, you still don’t message Ben, because, if against all odds, he doesn’t have feelings for you, you don’t want it to ruin the premiere for either of you.

Your prep team for the event consists of a stylist, who brings you the single fanciest dress you’ve ever worn in your life, and a makeup and hair stylist, and Merissa, who’s on her third iced coffee and is currently listening to you babble excitedly about the film, and about Ben.

They give you a dark, smoky eye and a pop of red in the inner corner of your eye, topped with red lipstick, a look reminiscent of your character, without being an outright homage, but the dress – _the dress_ – was out of this world. It’s black, and falls all the way to the floor, though all the thread and detailing has been done in royal purple, custom made, tailored to perfection, easily the most flattering dress you’ve ever worn.

Merissa is _speechless_ when you emerge from the bathroom.

“Good?” You ask softly, a little nervous, and she looks at you with awe in her expression, so proud, so warm.

“You’re really a movie star, aren’t you?” She says gently, watching as the stylist fixes how the collar’s sitting, fixing it in place with fashion tape.

“Not yet,” you correct her, “I’m just a secondary character this time.”

“ _This time_ ,” she murmurs with a grin, “we always joked about seeing your name up in lights, but it… it’s really happening.” If she’s getting a little misty-eyed with pride, you don’t comment. She seems to catch herself before getting too emotional, clearing her throat, chuckling, “if Ben doesn’t confess his undying love for you when you look _that damn good_ , I’m gonna role up to his house and break his kneecaps for being an idiot.”

The stylists laugh at that.

“Seems a bit harsh.” You tell her lightly, but you’re smiling, and there’s a moment you share, looking at one another in a hotel room in the middle of London, while you’re getting ready for the premiere of the first of your X-Men films, and all you can see is two young girls in the school library, with their whole futures ahead of them, wondering aloud what the world has in store, when all you had to worry about was maths homework. Neither of you would ever have imaged this is where you’d end up.

Merissa has to take a separate car to the event, which you’re a little disappointed about, seeing as how you’d wanted to introduce her to Alexandra; you had a feeling the two of them would get along. Alexandra’s waiting in the car when you get down to the garage, looking overwhelmingly stunning in a patterned dress with sheer detailing, and sharp eyeliner.

“How did you get even hotter?” You ask with a grin, sliding into the seat beside her, and she laughed brightly as you closed the door, the driver starting up the engine.

“I was about to ask you the same thing.”

On the drive there, she asks in passing if you’ve managed to talk to Ben about what’s going on between you two. You tell her _‘absolutely not_ ’ and you’ve never seen her look so exasperated before, but when you explain your reasoning, she, at the very least, understands enough to let it slide.

There’s a blue carpet and hundreds of screaming fans and _okay this is real_. Your immediate reaction to the sudden, overwhelming reality is to try and get back in the car, but Alexandra’s stepping out, with a hand on your back, guiding you forward.

“Keep breathing, okay?” She says quiet enough that only you can here. You reach for her hand instinctively, and she takes it, you open your mouth to voice your fears, but she anticipates them, and gives your hand a squeeze, “they love you already, all you need to do now is love them back.”

People are calling your name. _Fans_ are calling your name, calling your character’s name, and there’s people doing interviews along the blue carpet, taking photos. Alexandra doesn’t let go of your hand. You’re happy to let her lead while you’re still struggling to come to terms with the situation. You take photos with the fans in the crowd, sign autographs, pose for photos, and little by little you find your bearings and let her go when an interviewer calls her over. Almost immediately you’re swept up into a hug by Lana, talking about how good it is to see you, and how exciting everything is.

Her enthusiasm settles your nerves further.

Almost everyone’s arrived by now; Oscar kisses you on either cheek when he greets you, asks you quietly how you’re doing, concern in his voice. His hands are secure on your shoulders.

“Great,” you take a deep breath and smile brightly, and he nods at you.

“Good; you look phenomenal by the way,” and his words have you beaming.

Tye, on the other hand, is taking photos of the event with a camera he’s brought, and tells you that you look like you’re on your way to your sugar daddy’s funeral.

“You look like a quarterback who peaked in high school got lost on his way to the reunion,” you tell him in response, but you’re both regarding each other with a warm fondness, and you straighten the way his jacket’s sitting around his shoulders, “you look really nice.” Your voice softens to something sincere, and Tye takes a photo of your genuine, fond smile.

“So do you,” he answers from behind his camera, and you can see him grinning.

You’re moving towards the photo opportunity area where Evan’s currently posing for what seems to be hundreds of blinding camera flashes, and your nerves are building and –

“ _Hey_.”

Ben’s voice behind you cuts through your nerves with ease, and you turn, relief written all over your face as you wrap him up in a hug. He hugs you back, holding you tight, breathing calm and even.

“Alex told me to find you,” he murmurs quietly, and you tighten your grip a little more, eyes closed as you breathe deeply.

“I’m okay,” you breathe, before giving a soft laugh, “better now that you’re here.” And when you break, step back from each other, neither of you let go, your hands on his waist, his hands on your shoulders, and you look each other over, taking in your respective outfits.

Ben’s in an all-black suit. _Christ he’s gorgeous_.

“You look… _so beautiful_.” There’s something reverential in his voice and okay, _now_ you see it. _How has it taken you this long to realise he’s in love with you_? Because it’s kind of obvious.

“Whoever decided to put you in all black should get a promotion,” you grin as you finally drop contact from each other, “and a serious pay raise.” He ducks his gaze, blushing a little around the ears at that. Someone calls your name.

“The public awaits,” Ben jokes, looking around at all the people, the cameras, the _everyone and everything_ of it all, “we’re finally here, it doesn’t quite feel real.” He laughs a little, and then he looks back at you. It’s there in his eyes, he’s desperate to say something but _can’t_ with all these prying eyes.

“We did it,” you say gently. Someone calls your name, more insistently; another interviewer. A photographer calls for Ben. “The public awaits,” you agree, and lean in to kiss him on the cheek, careful not to leave a lipstick print, and then you’re both moving in different directions again.

The interviewer is so enthusiastic, an energy you attempt to mirror, enthusing about the premiere, being a part of the production, about the film itself, and –

“I get to kiss Ben Hardy, which, dude, have you _seen_ Ben Hardy? Best part of my job,” it kind of just slips out before you remember that there’s not _actually_ a kiss between your characters in the script. But they don’t know that. _Yet._

And moments later you remember that these interviews are both being filmed for YouTube, and being broadcast around for the fans onsite to see and hear; your voice echoes around the premiere and you feel the embarrassment set in around the same time as you hear Alexandra laughing a few feet away, halfway through an interview of her own. _Traitor_. Your interviewer, however, a beautiful redhead in a stunning green dress, just nods emphatically.

“He’s a gorgeous human being; I for one am definitely excited to see the two of you on screen together.”

Not too long after, you’re taking photos with a few of the new X-Men when you hear the same interviewer, halfway through interviewing Ben, asking if he’s heard what you’d said –

“Yeah, no, I heard the screen-missus earlier, so if I seem all pink in a few photos you’ll know why,” and you can hear the smile in his voice, “she’s a beautiful young woman, and an absolute treasure to work with.”

Tye pokes you in the side.

“If I hear one word out of you I’m going to fucking German Supplex you,” despite the threat of your tone, you can’t repress your own smile; he just laughs, and thankfully doesn’t comment. Evan, on your other side and not expecting the remark, seeing as you and Tye had only become friends after filming had ended, is doubled over and practically wheezing.

“In heels?” He asks.

“She would,” Tye says simply, as if he believes in your inherent ability to German Supplex him in a dress and heels, even if you both know you couldn’t really. It’s bizarrely supportive.

You get photos with the other Horsemen and Oscar, unfortunately Michael wasn’t in attendance, since he was filming for a different project elsewhere, but he’d sent his apologies. Alexandra’s smile is blinding and absolutely radiating _‘I told you so_ ’ energy the moment you and Ben get within ten feet of each other.

“You guys are the worst,” she mutters under her breath to you, as the two of you have split off to get photos in pairs, and you sigh, wistfully.

“I wanna kiss him _so bad_ , Alex.”

“You’re killing me.” She responds through her teeth, tone almost forcibly cheery, smiling bright for the cameras.

And then she’s taking photos with Oscar, and it’s you and Ben, posing with an arm around each other, fitting against his side so easily. He taps his thumb against your hip, and you lean further into him, tracing a check mark against his side with your index finger, hoping he can feel it through his suit jacket.

If you look at him now, you’re going to kiss him in front of all these people, and you _cannot_ do that until you actually talk about whatever’s going on between you both. The next few hours are going to be _agonizing_.

They have all the cast and the producers waiting in a backstage green room while the audience was seated; fans and journalists alike sitting side by side waiting as the presenter introduces the producers, and then the cast. One by one you’re called out, and the crowd screams for you.

“Y/N Y/L/N playing Control!”

You can hear when Merissa calls out that she loves you from the audience, and your smile gets wide despite the white noise in your ears. This crowd is your judges panel; this is the chance to sink or swim –

Ben helps you on stage, and doesn’t let go of your hand, rubbing a comforting rhythm with his thumb. _Breathe_ , he’s reminding you, without saying a word. After you, they call Alexandra, and on instinct, you take her hand too, and she gives it a squeeze, but doesn’t let go; the Horsemen are a unit, that much you all make clear.

The director says a few words, and then you’re ushered off stage to take your seats and enjoy the movie. You have to let go of their hands to leave, though Ben, ever the gentleman, is standing with Tye at the edge of the stage helping the ladies in their heels down the surprisingly steep stairs. You let Ben help you and aggressively hi-five Tye on your way past.

There’s an entire two rows cleared for the cast and crew, not that you’d need it, it’s more for security reasons. You’re sat between Ben and Oscar, and as the lights go down in the theater, you reach over impulsively and take Ben’s hand, giving it a squeeze as the excitement floods through you.

_It’s all been leading here._

_“Mutants born with extraordinary abilities,”_ Professor X’s monologue, and the film itself, begin, _“and still, they are but children, yet stumbling in the dark, searching for darkness.”_

Your heart’s in your throat when you get to the East Berlin scene, and see yourself step out of the car, onto the screen for the first time. Seeing how seamless they made the clone look gives you goosebumps, but seeing Angel on screen for the first time leaves you _speechless_.

There’s a moment when your character’s watching the fight, her gaze starry-eyed, and they’ve edited it so that you can see the reflection of Angel’s wing in her eyes, and you can’t help the gentle _oh_. And then later on, when Mystique’s overloaded the electric fence, shorting it out, and your character’s making short work of the humans with guns, there’s a shot of Angel, who’s just ripped the cage open, and is watching you with both concern and rage, like he hadn’t been expecting freedom but will now take it with both hands. But he gives pause, breathing hard, and you look up at him, defiant – _“Go!” ­_ – and he hesitates for just a moment before taking off.

You’ve been playing these characters for months, so to see it on screen, those looks, so clearly edited together like this _for a reason;_ you’re not even sure if the audience will pick up on it on their first watch, but you _know_ , it’s so _clear_. It’s not the point of the movie, but _this,_ Control and Angel, is a love story. A tragic love story.

The scene ends with _The Scream_. The one-take scream you remember clear as day; violent and visceral as it’s ripped from you on screen, rippling out like shock waves, incapacitating everyone around you. Once it’s over, they’ve added a ringing, like faint tinnitus, barely audible over your rough, vicious breathing, and then they cut to the next scene.

The movie is _incredible_ , the visuals stunning, the effects absolutely unparalleled. You should probably compliment Tye at some point about acting without using his eyes. You weren’t around for a lot of his scenes, so it’s nice to know he’s a decent actor, not that you doubted him before.

Then Storm’s transformation scene, so beautiful and _fucking perfect_ ; you’re a little in awe of Alexandra when you watch it. You’re a little in awe of all the cast.

Then it’s Ben’s transformation scene, and you’ve got his hand in a white-knuckled grip as you watch him writhe and scream in pain on screen, his white wings turning sharp and silver before your very eyes.

But before long, it’s your turn. The fight that opens the scene is raw and bloody, and you’re wondering if it’s too narcissistic to think you look incredibly hot splattered with blood. Ben gives your hand a squeeze like he’s quietly wondering something similar.

The way Angel looks at Control in this scene has your heart hammering against your ribs; how in the hell did you look at each other like that on set and get away with calling yourselves _just friends_? Either way, your transformation in _Control_ leaves you breathless and awestruck.

As expected, Quicksilver’s slow motion scene is probably the single coolest thing you’ve ever witnessed, and the whole crowd cheers when the world slows down and _Sweet Dreams Are Made Of These_ starts in time with his arrival.

The final fight leaves you on the edge of your seat, and you feel a strange, phantom pain from all the bruises you’d received during it, but seeing yourself _BAMFed_ through the air as you fought Nightcrawler tooth and nail, you know it was absolutely worth it.

They used the take with the kiss for Angel’s death. The kiss is barely show; it cuts away to an explosion, and then to Control’s final scream and collapse, but there’s no mistaking what happened.

In the theater, you look to Ben, only to find he’s looking at you, your own shock and _holy shit_ mirrored in his gaze. You both look away quickly, back to the film; you dig your nails into his hand for a moment and he rubs his thumb against the side of your hand.

There are tears in your eyes when Jean finally destroys Apocalypse with the help of Storm, and you’re cheering at the top of your lungs when the credits finally begin; a cathartic release. The audience is cheering too, loud and proud, but there’s a sudden influx of shushing as the credits stop. 

The credit music stops dead, and instead, we hear footsteps, and see Quicksilver walking down a strange corridor in the underground section of the Xavier Academy. Someone is humming.

It’s _Control_.

“Holy shit,” Ben whispers beside you in realization.

The scene plays out; Quicksilver realizes Control is free, and that it’s just a clone in the cage, and then they cut to the underground facility. The music comes in with the scene transition, the original, surprisingly cheery _Tears for Fears_ version of _Everybody Wants To Rule The World_ , and you see Control walking away from the camera. There’s the trail of blood from your hand and the bounce in your step. A close up of your hand shows that it’s obviously one of Angel’s feathers.

Ben’s grip on your hand is almost painful.

And then there’s the Symbiote reveal, the CGI looking so much better than you thought it would, and the crowd is dead silent. The blood splattered _SYMBIOTE CONTROL_ sign is revealed and Control is pulled inside the room by the sinewy, almost gelatinous hand of the Symbiote. The scene cuts to black and the song croons _‘there’s a room where the lights won’t find you, holding hands while the walls come tumbling down_ ’.

The crowd _explodes_ with cheers and hollers and you hear Evan yell _‘so that’s what that scene was!_ ’.

It’s real.

Everyone knows now.

Oscar hugs you tightly, though you’ve still got one hand holding Ben’s, and when you finally turn to the blonde, you’re expecting him to say something, but he surges forward and kisses you. It’s urgent and cathartic, something that’s been building for months, for what feels like just as long as the project itself.

It’s all been leading to this moment, to his lips on yours, to kissing him desperately in a room full of fans and costars, but feeling like you’re the only two in the world.

Ben breathes your name like a prayer when you finally break from each other, his surprise quickly melting into a starry-eyed grin.

“We did it,” you gasp, still holding one of his hands. He parrots the phrase back at you, much softer, taking the moment to rest his forehead against yours. You share in his smile, his joy, his enthusiasm. Talking could come later, all that mattered right now was this moment.

_Finally_.


	18. Chapter 18

One of the producers is holding a _not-so-small_ get together in the penthouse suit of one of London’s ritzier hotels, and when you asked if you could bring your friend along, the producer gives a shrug and waves you away; there’s enough people going whose names he already doesn’t know, what’s one more? So you text Merissa where to meet you, and you get her past security to where the cast and crew are being picked up from; for the first time since you’d met her, Merissa is subdued. When you get back to the cast, she’s quiet, even a little shy, and it takes you a few moments to realise _she’s starstruck_.

Merissa offers compliments when someone speaks to her, always quick to point out something about an individual’s performance in the film when she recognizes them, but she never approaches anyone.

“I feel like I know you from somewhere,” Ben joins you and Merissa not long after you’d brought her around. The first round of cars had already left, and you’re due to be ushered into the second. Merissa looks at him with her wide, nervous eyes, and then tips her head to the side as the realization hits her.

“You played football with my brother for five years,” she says flatly; she’s been aware of Ben’s existence far too long to be intimidated by him, “Ryan Fitzroy, I’m Merissa-“

“Your friend Merissa,” Ben turns to you, eyes sparkling with amusement, “is _Little Fitzy?_ ” he sounds delighted, though the reference goes over your head. You look helplessly to Merissa, whose face twists to something embarrassed at the old nickname, and she tells him to fuck off, but Ben’s grin is a million watts as he slings an arm around you.

“You remembered her but not me?” It’s far more genuinely annoyed than you’d anticipated it sounding, but it kind of feels a little like adding insult to injury. Ben, at the very least, has the decency to look a little embarrassed.

“Her mum used to take the team out for fish and chips after our game each week,” Ben explained, “every Sunday for five years.” And it seems even the nostalgia of it all is feeding into his good mood for the night.

“And mum always had me tag along and my brother’s nickname was Fitzy,” Merissa explained, voice heavy with resolution. You give her an apologetic look, but she seems to have relaxed somewhat, at the very least.

“How is Fitzy?” Ben asked casually, and Merissa sighed deeply, rolling her eyes.

“Failing his Masters and slutting his way across Ireland’s many fine universities; he says hi, by the way,” she adds, and Ben nods, and ruminates on this for a moment, before you spot Alexandra making her way over. _Thank god_.

“I can’t believe I ever thought the two of you would actually talk to each other about your feelings _before_ the premiere; now I owe Evan fifty bucks,” Alexandra gives both you and Ben a shove, but she’s grinning, before she turns to Merissa, “they’re hopeless, right?”

“You are both far too invested in our love lives,” you tut, but you can see Merissa already warming to her, suppressing a laugh.

“Absolutely,” she agrees with a sly smile, shooting an amused look out the corner of her eye, before looking back at Alexandra, “you did an absolutely incredible job, by the way; I totally had a thing for Storm back in high school, and it’s all come back full force.”

“Oh I totally agree – about the high school crush thing, Halle Berry’s,” Alexandra’s quick to clear up, making a noise of appreciation at the mere _mention_ of her predecessor, smiling so bright and genuine as she regards Merissa with intrigue and amusement, “I _am_ me, and I don’t think I’m enough of a narcissist to have a crush on my character, at least not yet, maybe if I do another film.” She laughing lightly, offering her hand, “Alex Shipp.”

“Merissa Fitzroy, I’m a friend of Y/N’s.”

“I believe she’s mentioned you before,” the realization occurs, and Merissa’s eyes go wide with a sudden dread and confusion, but Alex is quick to reassure her; she’s good at that, “only good things, I promise; she loves you a lot, you know.” Merissa’s expression turns soft as she looks to you, something unspoken and grateful in her gaze.

One of the assistants calls to the four of you, as the next car arrives.

“Alex!” Evan calls, pushing his way through the small crowd, just as the four of you were about to squeeze into the car, “Alex you lost the bet, don’t cheat –“ he turns to you and Ben, “don’t let her convince you of anything.” He instructed, and you raised your eyebrows.

“Got it, ignore that she told us she’d lost the bet,” you nodded with as much seriousness as you could muster. Merissa, behind you, snorts a laugh into her hand. Alex’s grin gets wider.

“Hey- no, that’s not what I- “ he pulled an unhappy face, and you blew him a kiss as you stepped into the car, “Alex –“ he turned his attention back to his original target as she slides neatly into the front seat.

“I’ll Venmo you.”

“You better,” but he’s smiling, and he closes the door after Merissa slides in, giving her a nod and a grin, while she does her best to smile back.

“That’s the _Horror Story_ boy,” she hissed with excitement the moment the door had closed, and she was safely behind tinted windows. A vague sort of _‘oh right, my friends are kind of a big deal_ ’ makes it’s way through your head, “ _Murder House_ boy!”

“I will give you the fifty dollars I owe him if you call him that to his face,” Alexandra offers, twisting around in the front seat to give Merissa the single most mischievous grin you’ve ever seen her wear. Merissa immediately goes quiet, eyes going wide and a little nervous, like she’s said something wrong, like she’s being made fun of, “hey, no,” Alexandra’s voice turns gentle, and she reaches out, around the seat to rest a hand on Merissa’s knee, “I was kidding; I get that all this can be overwhelming, just talk to him however you want, Evan’s lovely.” She assured. Merissa look at Alexandra’s dainty hand where it’s resting, warm against her skin, and finally looks back up to Alexandra’s gaze, huffing out a cathartic laugh.

“You guys are _so weird_.” Shaking her head with disbelief, Merissa gives Alexandra’s hand a fond pat; something about the interaction has seemingly demystified your actor-friends for Merissa, who comes out of her shell when you all finally arrive at the after party. Alexandra makes the executive decision to show Merissa around –

“Alex are you stealing my friend?” You tease, and Alexandra goes to comment, but Merissa beats her to it, wrapping an arm around Alex’s shoulders.

“She stole you from me first,” Merissa says loftily, “I think it’s only fair that I steal her for a night,” and Alexandra laughs, arm snaking around Merissa’s waist, clearly not objecting to the idea.

“What kind of logic is that?” Ben snorts, and Alex clears her throat pointedly.

“The kind of logic that lets you two be alone together,” and she makes a kissy face at you both while Merissa chokes on a laugh, and the two of them make a beeline for where a few cast members were gathered around the sofas, leaving you and Ben, as she had so kindly pointed out, alone.

He’s got his arm around you, warm and secure, but there’s suddenly butterflies in your stomach.

“Balcony?” Ben suggests, and you’re agreeing quickly, suddenly feeling like the warm air of the suite is too stuffy, choking you. Ben had kissed you and neither of you have talked about it. It happened an hour ago. You’re still reeling. Having Merissa around meant there hadn’t been time to process, and now, without knowing what this means for the both of you, having him by your side still feels like he’s a million miles away.

The balcony is mercifully quiet, and the air is crisp on this fine, Spring evening. A few producers are talking in hushed, excited voices to one another at the other end of the balcony, but for now you and Ben had some modicum of privacy, if you ignored the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the suite itself.

“So.” You lean hard against the railing, head bowed but eyes closed to avoid looking at the ground so far below you. Suddenly, it’s as if all the energy, all the momentum you’d built up from the night dissipates with the gentle breeze. You hear a quiet _ting_ as Ben’s cufflinks hit the metal railing as he leans against it beside you.

“So.” He agrees, and sucks in a deep breath of air. He’s waiting for you, you realise, and something about that irks you.

“How long?”

“What?”

“How long have you had actual feelings for me?” You ask bluntly; with your eyes shut, you can’t see Ben’s reaction, but given his hesitation, he hadn’t been expecting the question.

“I don’t… I- why?” He splutters, and you sag, sighing deeply.

“Because I never –“ the words catch in your throat, and you look up to the sky, to the stars glittering overhead, rather than at him, “it seems kind of unfair; you know I never really _stopped_ having feelings for you, right?” And finally you look at him, see his wide-eyed surprise, which you hadn’t actually been expecting; you’d thought you’d been obvious. After a moment, however, you consider, “it’s not the same as before,” you concede, to which he frowns, “it’s different, but not… not less.” You paused, and in that moment, his gaze locks with yours and you give the barest of smiles, “and never gone.”

Part of you had loved him because he was familiar, because from very early in the filming process, he’d made it clear that he was a safe place to put your feelings so long as he never found out about their true origins. And to love him initially was to help your career, to play romance onscreen and off, and let them feed into one another, to make you valuable to the project, to make you indispensable. But you’d been afraid to be yourself incase you weren’t what the world, the producers, or _Ben_ was really looking for.

But they saw you for who you are anyways.

And as it turned out, one by one, they still chose you.

“I just assumed you’d want nothing to do with me after everything that happened,” Ben admits, “after I didn’t hear back from you after coming to see your show, I thought… I realized you’d washed your hands of me, you know?”

You hadn’t, at the time, realized that he’d been trying to reach out to you with that text, so caught up in getting the role in _Ready Player One_ , and confused as to _why now_ he’d messaged you that you hadn’t even considered – _miscommunication_. _Fuck_.

“So if I’d… said something back, we could have avoided all this?” You ask softly, before it hits you – “you’ve had feelings for me for _six whole months now_? All through reshoots?”

“When you told me not to lead you on, I thought it was because you’d moved on already, and didn’t want to –“ he tries, though the reality of the situation seems to be occurring to him too, apology written all over his face, “when I saw you in _Streetcar_ , I realized,” he swallowed hard, looking at his hands for a moment, voice softening, “ _fuck_ , I don’t know what I realized, I just saw you up there and it’s like –“ he cut himself off, finally looking at you, vague embarrassment etched across his face, “I’m not good with this stuff,” he muttered, finally.

“It’s okay; I didn’t want you to feel guilty if you clued in to me still having feelings,” you admitted, stepping up to him, “so I pretended I didn’t have them. _Tried_ to. I thought you still thought of me as a kid.”

“You’re not.”

“Glad we’re both on the same page,” you smirk a little, wrapping your arms around his neck. There’s those butterflies again, your heartbeat picking up as four words lay heavy on your tongue. So much has happened tonight, maybe he sees the way you hesitate, the sudden nervousness in your eyes, “ _Ben, I_ –“ the words catch in your throat, terrified to let it go unsaid, but unable to make the words come out. But then there’s Ben, smiling gently at you, a warmth in his eyes that settles all your nerves, his arms around you, pulling you close.

“I know,” he says softly, and he kisses you. It feels _earned_ this time, not an impulsive rush, but the final note to a perfect symphony. There’s nothing left unspoken between you, it’s easy to melt into his embrace, to forget the world and indulge in the moment.

“Wait,” it comes out as a gasp as Ben leans back a little, eyes alight, but lips already kiss bruised, “that thing… that thing at the end of the movie; you- does that mean?”

“Dude, I’m the next antagonist,” your smile is sharp enough to cut glass, pupils blown wide as you revel in the revelation. You’re not expecting the way his expression changes, shining with pride and _love_.

“Bloody hell,” he breathes, and his whole face scrunches into a grin as he peppers you with kisses, “you weren’t kidding when you said _today X-Men, tomorrow the world_.” He laughs, and _oh,_ there’s so much excitement in his voice for you, and it hits you in a way you hadn’t expected, taking root in your heart, blossoming with warmth.

So you kiss him again, and hope he feels the warmth too.

You’re not out there for much longer, content in each other’s arms before deciding to head back inside, eager to talk to the rest of the cast and crew about the film itself. Alexandra and Merissa had been diligently guarding the door, as it had turned out, giving you and Ben as much time as you’d need to discuss everything that had been plaguing you, which you’re quietly grateful for.

There is, however, a small crowd with them, discussing at length, how much they’d enjoyed the film, and the process of making it, which included Evan, Sophie, and Tye, the latter of which flicked a cocktail onion at you. It missed and hit Ben in the cheek, to which Tye apologized, and Ben shook his head, huffing a laugh. Everyone else, however, aside from Alexandra and Evan who were also acquainted with your new dynamic, looked confused.

“At least the CGI made you bearable to look at,” Tye smirks at you, and you’re aware that Merissa’s expression has suddenly turned murderous, but your own smile goes painfully sweet.

“I wish I could say the same for you,” you tell him. Sophie chokes on her drink, but Tye’s smile turns actually rather fond.

“I walked into that one, didn’t I?”

“A little,” Ben agreed, giving your hip a squeeze, and you leaned into him, smiling a little smugly. The conversation picks up again, but Merissa’s looking at you with her eyebrows raised in silent question; _do I have to throw hands with your new costar?_ You had to hold back a laugh, answering out loud.

“Don’t get me wrong, if given half a chance I would roundhouse kick Tye into the sun –“

“The feeling’s mutual.” He cuts in.

“But I actually like him very much, I promise,” and when you look across at him, he gives finger guns that convey a similar sentiment.

“You guys are gonna kill each other on set,” Ben says mildly, and you hum in quiet, amused agreement, “sounds like it’s going to be a great movie.” When you look at him, he’s looking back, smiling easily, no hint of jealousy, just amusement and support, a newfound sense of security that you find calming.

“Your _screams_ though,” Sophie later brings up, when the two of you go to the suite’s bar together, further reminding you that this is the fanciest hotel room you’ve ever been in, the two of you deep in a discussion about how excited you are already for the next film, “every time- _Y/N_ , every time I felt it like, like here,” she jabs her sternum with three fingers, eyes wide, “how did you not lose your voice? I mean, I know there was a lot of lemon tea, but the emotion – _my God!_ ”

“No, dude, _stop_ ,” you feel yourself growing embarrassed and flustered, and yes, perhaps you’re both a little tipsy, but you were _celebrating_ , “that whole _Phoenix_ bit at the end; Soph, I was _in tears_ , actual real _tears_ ,” you cling to her, exuberantly pouring out your heart, “if anyone’s gonna take me down next film, I’d be honored if it was you.”

“Oh!” Her expression lights up with realization, “that’s right, I forgot that Jean does that in the comics, _oh_ –“ her face turns to something a little sad and considerate, “I never thought… I didn’t think _me-_ Jean would kill anyone, she’s just sixteen, it’ll be very interesting.” She nods sincerely, and you can’t help but admire her just for a moment.

You stay into the wee hours of the morning, discussing the film’s highlights, and hopes for the franchise’s future, until you suddenly find yourself _exhausted_.

And suddenly at a crossroads.

Because there’s no way you’re sleeping alone tonight now that you’ve finally got Ben back, but you’ve agreed to share your hotel room the studio had set you up in with Merissa. It seems strangely complicated for all of five minutes while you’re discussing options with Merissa, before Ben sees fit to remind you that he has a flat in the city, only a few blocks away.

“Give Little Fitz –“

“Hey!” Merissa protests the nickname from where she’s half draped across Alexandra’s lap, but Ben mostly ignores her.

“- your key card and stay with me.” It’s as simple as that; you confirm with Merissa that it’s okay, handing over the key card, and she looks at you like you’ve grown an extra head.

“What am I gonna say? No? Christ, go do depraved things to each other –“

“ _Merissa!_ ”

“Kidding!” She laughs, before schooling her expression into something faux serious, “or am I?”

“Fitz, I hate you.” You tell her, and she scowls at your sudden use of the nickname, but obligingly shuts her mouth, and sulks against Alexandra as you and Ben say goodbye.

“They’re into each other,” Ben mutters on the way out, and you throw a look over your shoulder to where Merissa had taken one of Alexandra’s hands in her own, and was trying to read the actress’ fortune in her palm. You knew this move, of course, which Merissa always used as an excuse to hold someone’s hand when she liked them.

“They’re cute together,” you offer with a shrug, and turn back around, but not before catching the way that Alexandra was the one to link her fingers with Merissa’s, “I’m never going to let her forget it.” You add, and Ben laughs.

Then it’s the two of you, alone, again, and in this moment, there’s nothing more for you to want in the world. It’s too early for you to properly appreciate his flat when you get there, but his bedroom is surprisingly cosy and inviting. It’s quiet now; speaking without words, your hands gentle on each other.

_I’ve missed you_ , his fingertips along your spine once he’s unzipped your dress.

_I’ve missed you too,_ holding his face as you pull him in for a kiss, before you let the dress fall to the floor.

He offers a coat hanger and a space in his closet, and removes his own jacket in the time it takes you to put the garment away. In your underwear, you rue not bringing makeup remover, but he’s got some wipes of his own in the bathroom. Side by side, you in your underwear and Ben now shirtless, you take off your makeup, and he removes the light foundation and eyeliner he’d been sporting for the event. It’s a quiet, surprisingly domestic moment, and you bask in it.

_I love you_ , your hands on his hips, thumbs gentle but deliberate against his hip bones. You move in, pressing soft kisses to his collar, his neck, and you can feel when his breath catches in his throat, and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close enough that you have to pause, to tuck your face against the crook of his neck, swallowed up by the warmth of him and the sweetness of his cologne.

_I love you too_. He presses a kiss to your temple, breathing deep, grounding himself in this moment, in you.

He offers you boxers to sleep in, rather than your fancy and uncomfortable underwear, seeing as you’re both too exhausted to do anything _depraved_ , as Merissa had called it. You accept, grateful, and slide into the comfort of his bed. When he’s finally undressed, he turns and sees you, duvet pulled up to your nose, luxuriating in the sheets that smell like him –

_You’re beautiful_ , it’s there in his eyes, his smile, the little, contented sigh you don’t think he even realized he’d made, _and I love you._

You push down the covers and beckon him over, wriggling over to make room for him, arms open and waiting. He huffs a laugh, but obligingly joins you, kisses you, and you relax into each other. And suddenly you’re hit with a feeling you hadn’t even anticipated, something so warm and secure, you’d forgotten he’d brought it out in you, but now that you remember it, you feel ashamed for ever being able to forget. You hum, warm and satisfied, finally.

_Anywhere with you feels like home_.


	19. Chapter 19

“So they’re not _technically_ dating,” you explain to Tye before filming starts; he’s got his head in your lap, reading through a few pages of the script, and you’re gently carding your fingers through his hair, “they’re just hanging out while Alex is in town filming.” You explain, and he lowers the paper he’s reading from, giving you as look as if to prompt you for more information.

“And?”

“And nothing,” you shrugged, “just making conversation,” and he rolls his eyes, but his smile is fond, “ _Egghead_ ,” you add, poking him in the cheek.

It’s the end of the first week of filming; they’re hoping to get most of the live-action shots done before suiting you all up for the in-game, motion captured scenes, and you’re both enjoying the morning. You’re on a roof garden, the crew milling about, repositioning various fans to create more wind, as Spielberg was reviewing some footage from the day before; the breeze isn’t particularly sweet, though that’s unsurprising given the local of the shoot, but the sun is warm, and the off-the-shoulder sweater they’ve put you in is comfortable. You’d already spent a good part of the morning warming up, so now you’re just waiting for filming to get underway.

“Alright, Tye, Y/N, can you both reset by the door, we’re about ready to start,” Spielberg calls over to you, and Tye sits up, getting to his feet and stashing his script out of sight for the moment.

_We’re rolling. Action!_

Tye identifies landmarks that will be added in post, IOI’s building, “The Stacks” where he’d lived, before his home was blown up –

“We’ve been living this close to each other the whole time?” His tone is softly disbelieving; with his lost-puppy expression and oversized jacket making him look all soft and warm, it’s easy to fall into character and give him nervous, half-pining looks. Your character, Artemis, still feels like it’s a risk to get close to him, but she can’t help herself; you hope that reads in the way you’re regarding him.

“Next door, around the world,” you shrug, moving past him, the wind blowing your hair out of your face; you’ve been put into a cute, auburn-toned wig to better fit the camera, an incredibly high-quality lace front, that now works exactly as intended, blowing carefree in the artificial wind, revealing the large birth mark the makeup team had given you, “it’s all the same in the Oasis.”

As if realizing what’s happened, you deliberately move your hair back to hide the birthmark, gaze dropping from his.

“For the record,” Tye stumbles over his words, all young and nervous and in love, “I’m… I’m not disappointed.” And you look to him, make eye contact as you let yourself feel your thinly veiled surprise; “you know you… you said I’d be disappointed when I met you, but I’m- I’m not.”

“I’ve lived with it my whole life, you don’t have to pretend,” you tug your sweater a little tighter around you, walking away from him, going to sit on the makeshift bench that had been set up amid this small slice of urban paradise; he follows you in earnest, looking far too gentle. He brushes the hair out of your face, revealing the birthmark, his hand warm, though you avoid his gaze.

“You have a birthmark,” he tucks the hair behind your ear, “so what?” And he gently lifts your chin, fingertips warm when they linger, “why would that scare me?” And in character, you hesitate in the face of such unfiltered kindness, and you reach up, taking his hand, marveling at the contact; it’s the first time your characters have touched one another in real life.

“Z, if I hurt you, I’m sorry,” you tell him as honest as you can manage, and it takes him a moment to try and wave it off before he’s grinning and laughing at the realization that you’d called his character by his in-game avatar’s nickname. His smile and laugh is a familiar comfort.

At first it’s weird to have romantic tension with him, to almost kiss him before your character’s realization occurs and you rush off. The moment after his gentle, soft laughter, in which you finally come to the realization about the ‘ _Second Clue_ ’ in game, and you get to yell ‘ _Oh Shit_ ’ instead of kissing him, it’s a cathartic release.

During the first take, the moment you shout, Tye bursts out laughing, unable to stop himself ruining the take. But it _helps_. Because it’s _Tye_ shining through, and slowly the two of you work to find a middle-ground, between who your characters are, and how to bring your genuine friendship into the role.

There’s a take where you’re admiring him as he speaks, and you forget your own cue for a moment. He looks at you, as if to prompt you, eyebrows raised, but you double down on your mistake once you realize it. You plant a loud kiss on his cheek, wrapping your arms around him.

“We have a plot to get to,” he says with a quiet laugh, struggling to stay in character while you press a stupid grin to his cheek.

“But you’re cute,” you tell him teasingly.

“Fuck the plot,” he announces, as if convinced, throwing seriousness to the wind, wrapping his arms around you and licking a large stripe up your cheek in retaliation. He pulls you closer with such force that you both topple off the bench you’re sitting on as the director calls cut. You can almost guarantee that’ll make it to the blooper reel.

The banter sounds more natural between you both, and when Spielberg calls cut, he’s nodding as if it’s turning out the way he wanted it.

* * *

[ **what’s your eta?** ] Sitting in the plane before take off, about to turn your phone off when Ben messages you. How could a single text get your heart racing, and your grin to a billion watts.

[ _my flight leaves in fifteen so like an hour and a half?_ ]

[ **fantastic!** ] [ **filming wraps for the day in about twenty so I’ll see you then** ] and then in a few seconds [ **wanna come to dinner with the cast?** ]

[ _as long as I won’t be a bother_ ]

[ **never x** ]

A man in a black suit was waiting for you when you landed, holding a sign with your last name on it, and there was a giddy sort of rush that came with the whole experience, which you’d only ever seen on TV. He leads you to the waiting car, and your waiting boyfriend, sitting on the boot with his ankles crossed. His hair is all curly, like the early days of _Apocalypse_ filming, but it’s shorter this time, styled, like he’d just walked off set, which becomes apparent when you go to run your fingers through it.

He’s _ecstatic_ to see you, an emotion you mirror with ease, laughing with relief when you final get to hug him.

“Do I get to see you in period clothes this week?” You ask once you’re both in the back seat, your eyes shining bright with amusement and anticipation.

“I happen to think I look quite good in a all those fancy layers,” he sounds a little defensive, but you’re quick to placate, a hand gentle on his cheek.

“Oh, baby, I have no doubt about that,” you assure him, voice low and amused, “why else would I be looking forward to it?” And he turns his head to press a kiss to your palm, a small, intimate moment that you hope your remember for the rest of your life, before it breaks, and you pull out your phone, showing him your lock screen; a selfie he’d sent you the previous week of him in full costume, “do I get to see this in person?” You ask.

“Of course,” he grins, and then you kind of forgo talking for the rest of the ride back to his hotel, and spend the hour before dinner, _ahem_ , _catching up_. At least you leave time for a shower before leaving.

The cast seems _surprised_ when they meet you, like they weren’t expecting you to be all smiley and friendly when you meet them, eager to shake hands and make small talk. Not that they can’t separate actor from character, but you can’t deny that in the two major roles you’ve played, you’ve been typecast as the bitter revolutionary. To meet you, to find you so open, so chatty, it was a welcome surprise.

* * *

“I told you we weren’t dating,” Merissa is sulking on your sofa, curled up and breaking an entire bar of chocolate up into bite sized pieces in a bowl before she eats it.

“Then why are you acting like –“

“I _told you_ we weren’t together, I just… I miss her is all,” she heaves a dramatic sigh, “I’ve watched all her movies –“

“Now you’re just being a masochist,” you tell her, but when you sit down beside her, you pat your lap and she lays her head down, pouting, “do you still talk to her?”

“Sometimes.”

“Was it meant to be just a fling?” You ask gently. Merissa groans.

“I don’t know! Can you just let me be dramatic tonight?” She pleads, and your heart softens.

“Of course,” you assured her, running your fingers through her hair with one hand, picking up your remote with the other, “what do you wanna watch?”

“ _X-Men Apocalypse_?”

* * *

“Don’t bite me,” Tye’s glaring at you, his hand on your thigh to keep you steady where you’re in his lap for the entirety of this shot, which happens to be the final shot of the film, but not of the shooting schedule. It’s been almost half an hour.

“I might bite you,” you mused, not sounding even a little bit sorry, “I’m _bored_ what am I meant to do?” You asked.

“Not fucking bite me!” Tye answered, exasperated.

“Can I bite you a little bit?”

“Why?”

You shrug.

“What if _I_ bite _you_?” He counters like it’s a threat, which baffles you.

“Sure,” your answer doesn’t seem to please him, “you know I mean, like, in general. On the nose. Not during the kiss, this is a family movie.” And you see the relief on his face as he finally understands.

“ _Oh_ , yeah, sure, fine, I don’t care about that, just don’t be a dick.”

“Just a little bite,” you assured, petting him on the head. He rolled his eyes at you, but leaned back in the chair, offering his cheek like a vampire’s victim offers their neck. You give him a gentle bite on the cheek.

“Did that cure your boredom?”

“Kind of,” you shrug after a moment. The scene is reset, and the swivel chair the two of you are currently occupying turns away from the camera. You wiggle to get a better seat in his lap, and he secures his grip on you.

“Don’t bite me,” he whispers in warning, and you raise your eyebrows.

“Biting is strictly for when I’m bored, I promise,” you assured, and the director calls action right as he laughs, so, at least for this take, the kiss that begins the scene and extends arguably too far into it, was to shut him up.

* * *

“What do you _mean_ you’re in the new season of _Stranger Things_?” It’s the first and only time you think you’ve ever heard Andrew raise his voice. His eyes are wide, _shocked_ and _overwhelmed_ in the lagging little FaceTime video.

“What do you mean _‘what do you mean_ ’?” You squawk in confusion, frowning at your phone. You can hear Ben laugh from the kitchen.

“He’s got a crush on the skinny white boy who looks like he eats cigarettes,” Jamie’s all smug and amused, perching his chin on Andrew’s shoulder, loudly chewing Ritz crackers. Andrew looks frankly _betrayed_.

“As _if_ ; you know I’m only invested in that show for Wynona Rider,” he says seriously, and Jamie grins from ear to ear.

“Right, _I’m_ the one with the crush on the white boy who looks like he eats cigarettes.” And he plants a kiss on Andrew’s cheek for emphasis.

“You have a type,” you tell him flatly, and Jamie steps back to cackle, and Andrew gives you a deadpan glare. After a moment, however, you’re scrambling to amend, “it’s not public knowledge yet, I’m still doing mocap and voice work for _Ready Player One,_ I just wanted to tell you guys ‘cos I was excited.” You admit.

“I do appreciate that your typecast is apparently the eighties,” Andrew’s anger defrosts to thinly-veiled amusement, “I feel like I should put on _Heathers_ just to cast you as the lead and keep in theme.”

“Andy, I’d be there in a _heartbeat_ ,” you assured him, and his smile, while fond, is a little sad.

“I feel like you don’t have the time anymore, dear.”

* * *

Kissing Tye on set isn’t weird, which you’re incredibly grateful for. There’s so much more strange shit in this movie, an eighties dance sequence that you have to perform in a motion capture suit, essentially feeling him up, also in the motion capture suit, and having the single most inuendo-laden conversation you’ve ever had in your life, whilst wearing – _you guessed it_ – that horrific mocap suit.

After you’ve heard your friend mutter about having ‘ _the X-1 Haptic Boot-Suit with microfiber crotch inlay’_ the rest stops being weird; there were several takes, both in person, and in the voice recording booth, that you couldn’t get through without laughing.

Your favorite blooper has to be when you’ve got your hands on his chest doing mocap, asking if he can feel the contact, and then, because you can’t help yourself, you bite his shoulder, and not in a flirty way, in an over-the-top, comical way, and he bursts out laughing in surprise.

“I’m gonna kill you, dude,” he chokes out, firmly out of character, between laughs, and around you the crew is trying to smother their own laughter.

Slowly but surely, however, you’re becoming nicer to each other on set, not that anyone should mistake those for romantic feelings, but it’s a tough film to shoot, and your friendship’s currently undergoing trial by fire. Just like with Ben, with whom you’d spent all your time with during _Apocalypse_ , you and Tye have developed a similar unspoken code, the most frequent of which, surprisingly, is an apology.

You got the giggles one day on set during what was meant to be a very serious scene, and it took almost a full fifteen minutes and half a bottle of water for you to calm down. You’re meant to be helping him escape from the bad guys, and letting them take you instead, and so when you finally are in the right headspace, the last of the laughter leaving you, you want to apologise to him after you’ve apologized to the director.

Tye takes in your gentle, apologetic smile, even as the director calls for the scene to reset, and you realise you don’t have the time. You quickly rest a hand on his shoulder, murmuring a quiet but sincere apology, and he pets your cheek fondly with a nod. _It’s okay_.

It’s easy enough for people to miss, if one of you is late to a shoot or to coffee beforehand, if one screws up a line which ends up somehow embarrassing the other, that unspoken apology, and the easy _it’s okay_ that goes along with it, goes a long way to reassuring the other.

* * *

“I’ve been thinking of getting an apartment in LA,” you bring up tentatively over dinner. Ben, who’s got a mouthful of pasta, looks at you with surprise, but mostly because you’ve caught him at an inopportune time. He’s nodding, trying to finish his mouthful quickly.

“There’s a shitload of opportunities out there, it would be smart,” he agrees, and you nod thoughtfully, though he’s the one to bring up, “seems a shame to be paying rent on two places though, ‘specially if you’re already barely using one,” which was true, you were staying with him more than in your own London flat.

“I was thinking that too,” you gave a small smile, hoping you were both on the same wavelength, “and if you ever had a project out in LA, or had a bunch of auditions or were job hunting, it would probably make more sense… you know… if I- if we- you know if I had a place out there that you could stay at.”

“You could move anything you didn’t want to take into my place here,” he offered, and the tension that had been knotted in your stomach eased considerably, though you feel the need to clarify –

“I still have a lot of stuff here, though, like I wouldn’t be moving for a while, not until maybe next year? After all that _Stranger Things_ stuff.”

Across the table, Ben tilts his head ever so slightly, confused at your sudden concern, his expression turning soft and reassuring.

“I’m happy to live with you, there’s no rush, don’t worry.”

* * *

[ID: Tweet from @Deadline: _‘Stranger Things’ Adds 3 New Regulars, Promotes 2 For Season 2 dlvr.it/RXrdLR_ (There are three headshots attached, one of child actress Sadie Sink, one of Dacre Montgomery, and one of Y/N Y/L/N). End ID.]

[ID: @burdenedwithporpoise retweeted @Deadline’s post with the following caption: _when u realise children shouldn’t be fighting monsters so u have to bring in two teenage superheroes @dacremontgomery @yourtwittername_ (Two images are attached; a still of Dacre Montgomery in the upcoming _Power Rangers_ dressed as the Red Ranger, and a still from _X-Men Apocalypse_ of the character _Control_ as played by Y/N Y/L/N, using her scream-attack power). End ID.]

“Ben, I was meant to be at least twenty in _Apocalypse_ ,” you sighed deeply, flopping over in bed to lay your head on his chest and sulk for a moment. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head after reading the tweets.

“I know, babe.”

* * *

“They’re asking if I can play drums.”

“Ben –“

“If I say yes, I can always learn after, right?”

“I mean, yeah, I guess.”

* * *

“Y/N, would you consider being one of my Groomsmen?” Andrew asks you over brunch at his and Jamie’s little flat. You’ve been giving your opinion of floral arrangements, “it’s pretty low effort, my brother’s going to be my Best Man, he’s organizing everything, I just –“

“Andy, that’s not even a question, of course I will be!”

It’s an Autumn wedding, the whole world golden when Jamie and Andrew both say _‘I do_ ’, and you have to pretend like you’re not crying the entire time. Both grooms are wearing impeccably tailored, bright and embroidered suits, Andrew in sunny, pastel yellow, and Jamie in _peach_ ; the meaning, the longstanding nickname, is not lost on you. During the ceremony, you catch Merissa’s eye, see her teary in place as Jamie’s Best Woman, and you both share a bright smile. Andrew’s never been very good at expressing his emotions, so to see him crying during Jamie’s vows, it set off another round of waterworks.

Ben’s in the crowd, four rows back, and just a moment, he looks to you, as if feeling your gaze, and you share a look of love, of pride, of _promise_. Something catches in your chest. _That could be us_. You’d never considered that before.

Everyone in the wedding party is wearing a suit, at the grooms’ behest, and once the ceremony is over, and the reception begins, Ben, who was of course your date for the function, looks at you like you’re not quite real.

“ _How_ is this the first time I’ve seen you in a suit,” he breathes, hands running down your arms as he marvels at how incredible you look in all black, with baby pink accents. You’ve just finished drying your eyes, so his praise has your lip trembling with overwhelmed gratitude.

“Fancy seeing you here!” A new voice joins you both, snapping you out of your feelings, and surprising both of you. When you turn, Alexandra is beaming at you both, wearing a dress in shimmering purple.

“Alex?” You asked, happy but confused. You hadn’t seen her in the crowd. Ben forgoes a greeting and wraps her up in a hug. You follow suit, just a moment after, grateful to see her despite your confusion. When you step back, Alexandra hesitates for a moment, looking between you both.

“Merissa invited me,” she says with a smile, looking so damn pleased and joyful. _Oh!_ “Beautiful ceremony, wasn’t it?”

“Stunning,” you agreed, though your gaze is torn away as you see Merissa looking through the crowd, concerned, “I think she’s looking for you.” And Alexandra turns, expression lighting up at the mere mention of Merissa. As she floats through the crowd, away from you and Ben, your boyfriend wraps his arm around you.

“So are they back together?”

“No clue.”

Merissa kisses Alexandra in greeting, wrapping her up in a hug like long lost lovers finally reunited; that is answer enough.

* * *

[ID: A photo posted to Instagram by Alexandra Shipp of herself, Y/N Y/L/N, and Ben Hardy. She is wearing a floor length, strappy, purple dress with a slit up to her thigh, Y/N is wearing a black suit and black undershirt with a baby pink bowtie and pocket square, and Ben is wearing a dark grey suit with white undershirt, the top few buttons undone. The three of them are posing together, arms around each other, looking at the camera with serious expressions.

The caption reads: _who invited famine, pestilence, and death to the wedding?_ End ID]

Predictably, the comments are full of questions about whose wedding it was, asking where Magneto was, and generally thirsting over the three of you looking like actual models. You won’t lie and say it’s not kind of an ego boost. Both you and Ben repost it to your public Instagram pages. You follow it up with a second heartfelt post about the wedding itself, congratulating two of your closest friends.

* * *

You’re reminded starkly of Jamie calling him _‘the white boy who looks like he eats cigarettes_ ’ when you find out you’ll be playing opposite Charlie Heaton, playing Vanity Ambrose, a punk photography enthusiast, and resident rebellious delinquent, who begins the season as a friend of Johnathan Byers, who ropes your character into the mystery of the story, but as he leaves you behind in favor of adventuring with Nancy, you end up teaming up with Steve Harrington trying to protect Will Byers while Jonathan’s out of town.

Reading this description, you wonder what about you has you typecast in these badass roles when, in reality, you’re a soft theater student who’s winging it, because they’ve written you as someone that Steve ‘ _The Hair_ ’ Harrington, the popular guy, is actually intimidated by your character.

It changes over the course of the Season, unsurprisingly. Once Jonathan leaves you with more questions than answers, you go looking for him, and then his not-girlfriend, and instead find Dustin, the kid with a monster for a pet, and at least a few answers for you. When Steve Harrington shows up looking for Nancy too, Dustin collects him too, and your character refuses to leave without knowing what the hell is going on.

As the mystery unravels, Steve learns that you’re more than just the intimidating stereotype you present as, and you see him for more than just a popular jerk, and the two of you bicker over the advice he gives Dustin about girls. You two help the kids set up their fortress again Dustin’s monster pet, and you’re part of the ensemble for the rest of the story, helping protect the kids as best you can, and you’ve always got Steve’s back.

[ID: Two images posted to your Instagram story.

The first is captioned ‘ _my characters_ ’ and is a still from John Mulaney’s comedy special _The Comeback Kid_ where he’s saying “ _Do not fuck with me_.”.

The second is captioned ‘ _me_ ’, and is a second still from the same comedy special where he’s saying _“You could probably pour soup in my lap and I’d apologise to you!_ ”. End ID.]

* * *

“Hey, I’m so sorry, I just have to take this call real quick, it’s very important.”

“All good, Y/N, we’ll break for fifteen and meet back here, okay?” The director of the episode gives you a thumbs up, and you quickly move away from the rest of the cast and crew to answer.

“ _Babe! Babe holy shit! Babe!”_ Ben’s elated voice greets you at three in the afternoon in early January. You’re currently in America, two thirds of the way through filming for the show, currently on set, decked out in leather.

“Hey baby, you sound happy, what’s –“

“ _Babe_!” He adds for emphasis, tone ecstatic, “ _I got it! I –_ _fuck! I got it!_ ” And he lowered his voice, worried of anyone in your vicinity, even with the phone to your ear, “ _Bohemian Rhapsody!_ ” He hisses with the biggest grin you’d ever seen. For a moment, your eyes go wide, and you fight to control your reaction, absconding further into the woods you’d been filming in, before it all bursts forth.

“ _Ben, oh my God!_ ” You’re all but jumping with joy yourself, “oh baby, oh _Benny,_ that’s incredible! I knew you would, you’re going to absolutely kill it! Oh my man’s _a star!_ ” You practically sang, as Ben’s excitable and incomprehensible yells filled your ear.

“ _Queen, babe! Fucking Queen!”_ He made an uncharacteristic noise of excitement, before adding with something of a self-deprecating laugh, “ _now I just need to learn how to play drums.”_

* * *

“What if I moved to LA?” Merissa asked over FaceTime, fidgeting.

“For real?” It kind of came out of nowhere for you, sitting in your hotel room on a rare day off, taking advantage of all your free time, catching up with your friends.

“Yeah, I mean I’m about to graduate, and there’s plenty of opportunities for journalists, and…” she hesitated, chewing her lip.

“And?” You prompted.

“And I’ve been saving for a while, actually, like since I was sixteen, and my parents have agreed to help me out –“

“So you’ve already made up your mind then?” You say with a half-smile, but she doesn’t seem to be registering anything you’re saying.

“And it means I’d be closer to Alex.”

“Don’t move to LA _just_ for a girl,” you told her, “but if it’s what you really want, go for it.”

* * *

“If I bought you a waistcoat would you just wear it around the house for me?” You sighed wistfully, head propped up on your hand where you’re lounging in his chair on the set of _The Woman in White_ , gazing longingly at Ben in his full period costume. Ben, where he’d been pacing and running lines before the shoot actually started, stopped, a blush creeping up his cheeks when he finally looked at you, taking in your dreamy expression. He approaches you, still wearing that pleased little, half-flustered smile, and he takes your face in his hands, leaning in to kiss you gently.

“Only ‘cos I like you,” he teased, leaning back, and you giggled, taking one of his hands and pulling him back in for another kiss.

Later, one of the production assistants will be by your side, the both of you watching as the director calls _action_ and Ben wraps his costar up in one of the hottest kisses you’ve ever witnessed. The PA asks if it’s weird to watch. You shake your head; it’s a job, honestly you’re a little proud of how just _watching_ him kiss someone else like that makes you think unholy thoughts. Mostly, however, you’re just _proud_.

* * *

“Mum, I am begging you, please do not mention EastEnders,” you plead with your mother as there comes a knock on the door of your family home.

“I won’t call him Mister Beale,” is what your mother agrees to, wiping her hands on a tea towel and heading to the door as you finished setting the table. The door opens, letting in a gust of cold air, and your mother ushers your boyfriend inside, “Ben it’s so lovely to see you again, it’s been far too long.”

“Not since we saw _Streetcar,_ ” he agreed, smiling easily, and hugging your mother when she offered one. Making his way through to the dining room, he kisses you in greeting, while your mother babbles about how it’s a shame that both you and Ben are so busy that it’s been hard to have dinner together.

“I hear you’re starting filming for that _Queen_ film in a few weeks,” your mother muses while you were all eating, and Ben lights up when he talks about it, excited about learning how to play drums, getting to talk to the band members, watching old documentaries, and all the exciting costumes he’s been trying out. Your mother nodded along, admiring the way you were regarding him with such pride as he spoke.

“I’ve always liked them, truly tragic what happened to Freddie, truly tragic,” she shook her head, and both you and Ben nodded in somber agreement, before she perked up, “but _ooh_ , that little bassist, I swear back when he had his long hair- that wife of his was lucky to snap him up so quick,” you and Ben share an awkwardly amused look, and your mother continues, “Roger’s always been very pretty, all my little school friends always thought he was the cutest; I’m sure you’ll do wonderful, Ben, you’re a very talented young man, I’ve always thought so.”

You’re very suddenly reminded of her, in this very room, calling him an idiot after you’d broken up that first time, but decide to keep that to yourself.

Ben’s humble as he tries to brush off the praise, but your mother feels the need to mention that she ‘ _owns all of EastEnders on DVD, so I’d know if you’re talented; that was a long time ago_ ’ and Ben turns red and you regret everything that lead you here.

“Mum, you’re killing me.”

“What? It’s just a fact! I’m a fan of the show, I’m not a super fanatic or anything,” she shrugs, and you take a deep breath before remembering something you’d been meaning to bring up.

“Speaking of _BoRhap_ , I got a call from the director,” which was news to Ben, as well as your mother, “he’s the same one from _Apocalypse_ ,” you said for your mother’s benefit, and she nodded in understanding, and you turned to Ben, resting your chin on your shoulder with a grin, “he offered me a little cameo.”

“That’s fantastic, babe, what’ll you be playing?”

“He wants me to play your wife, actually,” you grin, and Ben’s whole expression softens, “suppose he thinks I’ll do quite well at it.”

* * *

Filming for the new X-Men movie, simply titled _Riot Control_ starts filming a few months after _Stranger Things_ finishes, and you’ve never been so happy to take a painfully long flight before. It hurts to do without Ben, to have him not be part of the story, but he’s there in spirit, cheering you on the entire time.

To play Control is like riding a bicycle, like coming home after a long trip, like a warm hug on a cold night. Okay, perhaps that’s a little dramatic, but to be back with most of the cast, apart from Ben and Oscar, it felt more like hanging out with friends than any other shoot you’ve been on thus far.

They’ve hired a movement coach for you this time around, specifically to develop a new way of moving and fighting when playing the Symbiote. There’s also more fighting in this one, more time spent in the gym and with a personal trainer and fight choreographer; it’s intense, and most days leave you feeling sore and exhausted, but it’s worth it, you tell yourself every night that it’s worth it. 

The best part, by far, is seeing everyone again. Some you haven’t seen for almost a year, not since the _Apocalypse_ premiere, but there’s a few faces you’re more than used to by now.

“That looks familiar,” Tye’s grin is clear in his tone as he looks you over in an unflattering mocap suit, filming as the Symbiote for the day.

“Shut it, Egghead,” you warn him, though when you glance at him out of the corner of your eye, you’re grinning, and he laughs, throwing an arm around you.

“No, come on, I’ve missed this,” he gives you a squeeze.

“You’re just excited not to be in the suit as well,” you counter, and bite his shoulder in a familiar display of affection. He does not, however, disagree.

Much to your surprise, _Merissa_ shows up to set before Ben gets a chance to; that’s unsurprising, he’s still filming back in Ireland, but Merissa doesn’t even mention that she’s thinking of showing up before she’s on set.

“ _Holy. Shit_.” You’re in your full _Control_ costume and makeup, complete with prosthetics, contacts, and fake tattoos. She’s got that look in her eyes again, like back at the premiere, when she didn’t know anybody and didn’t quite know what to do or what to say, “holy shit, dude.” It’s like it’s hitting her just now, how much you’ve changed in the years that have passed.

“Merissa,” and you smile, greeting her warmly, wrapping her up in a hug and holding onto her for a very long moment, “it’s so good to see you! Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?”

“Thought I’d surprise you,” her voice was soft, and a little awed, “Alex flew me out.” She paused, stepping back and holding you at arm’s length, taking in your whole costume, “dude, you look kind of terrifying,” she grinned, “does this mean I’ll actually get to see you at work?”

“Yeah, dude, you’re here aren’t you?”

* * *

The Comic Con green room makes your skin itch when déjà vu strikes, waiting for the _Ready Player One_ panel, but Tye is next to you, talking at length about his latest production, to take your mind off of things. They call you both over, and as you stand, you rest your hand on Tye’s shoulder, not an apology this time, a thank you. He gives a reassuring smile, resting his hand on your cheek briefly, nodding, checking in, making sure you’re alright.

It’s easier this time around, you find; they give you your own microphone, which you fidget with when you’re walking on after the trailer plays.

And _the trailer- Holy Shit!_ It looks _stunning,_ so much more incredible than you’d ever imagined. Suddenly, you’re _excited_ rather than nervous, despite the lack of footage of your own character, though they’re still in post, so you wouldn’t be surprised if it takes another trailer or two before she’s shown fully-rendered.

“Y/N, how you doing, you okay?” Tye asks into his mic as you’re all finding your seats after hugging Spielberg and Ernest Cline, the writer, in greeting, and when you look at him, that little traitor is grinning, he must have noticed you fidgeting.

“I’m doing good, don’t have my boy- my-“ you stumble over your words, much to both Tye, and the rest of the audience’s delight, “ _Ben_ to hold my hand this time around though,” and TJ Miller, one of the other actors barks a laugh from beside you.

“You can have _a_ Ben hold your hand,” he gestures to Ben Mendleson on his other side, and while you and Mendleson share an amused look, you politely decline with a chuckle.

“I think I’ll live,” you rebound easily after a moment, sitting back and giving an easy laugh. Most of the questions are directed at Steven Spielberg, and the two cowriters of the film, naturally, and the only question you field in the time you’re all allotted is how it felt to kind of play two separate characters, which is easy enough to answer. Until, the inevitable;

“So Tye, you and Y/N – this is the second time the two of you are working together, do you think that made it easier or harder to build that- that relationship between your characters?” The host asks, and when you and Tye share a look, you can already see the cogs turning in his mind, the mischievous glint in his eyes, and you race to raise your microphone.

“Be nice, _Egghead,_ ” you warned, and he goes to protest, something along the lines of _‘I’m always nice_ ’, but before he even gets a chance, you turn to the audience, “he sent me a text the other night, at like two in the morning, completely unprompted –“ and Tye’s laughing because he knows exactly what you’re referring to, “that just said _‘You remind me of a pelican_ ’ full stop – _full stop,_ ” you add for emphasis, “ _’that’s not a compliment_ ’,” you huff, but you’re grinning, and shrugging, “so that’s what our working relationship is like.”

“That’s only because you called me _‘Significantly Worse James Marsden_ ’ that day,” he protests, “so my thing, it wasn’t- it wasn’t unprompted.” He clarified, and you had to lower your microphone to laugh, along with the crowd.

“But no, seriously, Gun - _Y/N_ and I didn’t actually interact all that much in our last film, like we did, but not a lot, so it was kind of like, we were building that relationship from scratch, but we’re both- you know we were both already comfortable around each other,” Tye explains, and you nod along in agreement, until he adds, “I just have to keep her distracted with something shiny, ‘cos she bites when she’s bored.”

“You hypocrite!” You exclaim, and Tye’s whole expression shifts to amused and mischievous, “you bite me just as much as I bite you. This is mutual-friendship biting.” And the audience laughs and whistles while Tye just sits back, amused by the chaos he’s created.

“That’s actually not a joke,” TJ Miller adds from your other side, grinning wide enough to split his face, that traitor, “between takes I’ll look over, and they’ll both be on their phones _– millennials_ –“ he adds, jokingly, “and one of them will just lean over and bite the other, just right on the arm.”

“Biting on set?” The host asks Spielberg, bewildered, and the director laughs gently.

“As long as they do what they’re told when cameras are rolling, I don’t care; the energy and dynamic they have is fantastic for their characters, so as long as they’re menacing each other and not the rest of the cast, everyone kind of lets them be.”

The crowd are all smiling at you, watching, attentive, reassuring. _They want you here_.

And you’ll see them all again in just a few hours for the _Stranger Things_ panel.

You don’t even have the safety net of Tye for your second panel of the day, but by now you think you’ve got everything under control. You’re in a new outfit at your stylist’s behest, changing the look from something sweet to something more rock and roll to reflect your character.

“Y/N, who plays Vanity,” Joe Keery announces, and you shoot him a smile as you walk on, finding your seat next to Dacre.

“Now, Y/N, you’ve already been up here today once before,” the host of the panel cuts in, and you give a laugh, leaning in to your shared microphone.

“Shh, Patton, they made me get changed so people wouldn’t notice,” you laughed, and the host snorted a laugh, quickly playing along.

“Sorry, sorry, welcome to the stage _for the first time today_ , Y/N,” and you laugh lightly as they introduce the rest of the panel. They show the trailer for the next season and you’re kind of blown away; it’s always a little strange to see yourself on the big screen, especially playing characters so against your actual personality, but you don’t look out of place, you look… _cool._

And then they’re going down the line, asking the new actors about how their characters fit into this role.

“And Y/N this- this is very familiar, the leather, the eighties; are you planning to end the world here too?” The host jokes, and you grin broadly as the audience laughs.

“What makes you think I’m the bad guy? We’ve already got – Dacre here literally said he’s a human antagonist, dude,” you shake your head, and the host babbles something about the way you’re dressed, the colour scheme you’ve been put in, and you nod in understanding, “well that’s part of my character, you know, a lot of people find it difficult to look past her whole, her whole punk thing, you know? That was really interesting for me, because – _I don’t know how much I can say_ – but I spend a lot of time hanging out with Steve, Steve Harrington, who’s like this popular kind of jerk, at least that’s how Vanity sees him, and so it’s really nice to be able to play this kid who’s like, wearing this intimidating, punk mask, hanging out with the popular guy – _for whatever reason_ –“ you wiggled your eyebrows, teasing the audience, “and to just have these kids discover that there’s actual people beneath these stereotypes.”

* * *

“Can I ask you something?” Alexandra’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet; the two of you are getting lunch in a break between scenes, and you’ve squirrelled yourselves away in the back of a restaurant you’d enjoyed back when you’d been filming _Apocalypse_.

“Of course, anything.”

“Do you think you’d still be _Famine_?” And she asks it so seriously, that it’s a little surprising, and you have to wrack your brains to figure out what she means. It’s clear her question confuses you, however, because she’s quickly clarifying, “back when we, you know, when we first met; you, me, Ben, Michael, Oscar, we went around and we said which Horseman we’d be as ourselves, not as our characters.”

“Yeah, I remember,” you nod slowly. Alexandra drops her gaze from you back to her food.

“Do you still think you’d be _Famine_?”

You take a very long moment to think it over, to analyses what she’s saying, what she’s implying, and coming to terms with the fact that such a small detail, all those years ago, had stuck with her. Maybe she could tell, maybe she’d understood what you’d meant when you called yourself _Famine_ , quietly wanting for everything, so desperate for connection, for recognition, for _appreciation_.

So much has changed in the past two years alone.

“No, not anymore.”

* * *

Before filming had started, you’d heard that the story was going to be split over two films; in the first, you play the villain. You find the Symbiote while looking for a way to bring back Angel, but over time, the Symbiote corrupts you, makes you turn to vengeance rather than your loved one’s revival, and for a time, you listen. Broken by Apocalypse and Angels’ deaths, and your perceived betrayal of Magneto, who is revealed to be Control’s idol, during a flashback in which she watches his 1973 national address, she goes after the X-Men specifically, at the Symbiote’s urging. But Magneto’s not with them, and his betrayal is the one that hurts the most, so he’s the one she’s going to kill first.

Not that it works out like that.

But the point is, Control survives the first movie; going up against the X-Men, going up against _The Phoenix_ , Jean refuses to believe that Control can’t be saved, that she doesn’t _deserve_ to be saved, and burns the Symbiote out of her, as Control finally comes to terms with everything that’s happened, everything she’s done and who she’s become, and agrees to go with the X-Men.

In the second, you’re somewhat reformed, and would go back to being a secondary character, living alongside Magneto in his mutant paradise island as the events of _Dark Phoenix_ would play out. At least that’s what you’re told at the time.

There’s never been a more difficult scene for you to film than the final confrontation with Jean; hours, voice raw as you’re meant to be screaming as the Symbiote is burned out of you, nose to nose with Sophie, crying and shaking and covered in cuts and blood. Sophie’s crying too, as Jean, refusing to give up on you, her hands holding your face.

You’ve been at it all day, overwhelmed and exhausted, you’re the only two cast members on set, feeding off each other’s anguish, muttering to each other that it’s going to be okay, that you’re going to get through it. Someone hands you a bottle of water, another lozenge, and your hands shake as you drink, as you try and help your sore throat before the next take.

“We good to go again?” The director asks, and you hand back the water bottle, giving him a shaky thumbs up. Sophie smiles at you, sniffling a little and trying to shake out her nerves before beginning again, “just a few more takes!” The director calls, apologetic.

And again, again, _again_ ; scream, lines, tears, a lightshow in your face to indicate Jean’s powers, her grip against your cheeks tightening, until it all becomes too much.

You scream, but you can’t keep it up, and it’s like it’s choking you, your voice lost, overcome by tears, and you collapse against Sophie in the middle of the take, shaking and crying and exhausted.

“ _No-one,_ no-one _,”_ she tells you sincerely in character, falling with you until she’s sitting on the ground, cradling you against her, “ _is beyond help. There is always hope,_ ” and it comes out as a whisper, “ _there is always hope_.”

The director is calling cut, but you sit like that for a long time, in Sophie’s arms, so tired and overworked, and the director apologises for pushing you both so hard, thanking you both for the effort you’d put in, telling you it was a wrap on the scene.

* * *

“I know we don’t have you for long, so thank you for coming in and doing this,” the director of _Bohemian Rhapsody_ told you, leading you through to the band’s rehearsal room set, “but you’ll be back in November, right? There’s a few scenes we need you for; the schedule’s all been cleared with your manger, I just wanted to run it past you.”

Your schedule had gotten hectic; it had been less than a week since you’d wrapped on _Riot Control,_ and in a week and a half you were flying back out to LA for the _Stranger Things 2_ premiere, but had made the trip to London to film your first _BoRhap_ scene at the director’s behest.

“Yeah, all good, I’ve been looking forward to this,” you grinned brightly, smoothing out your brightly colored blouse.

“This is Rami Malek, Gwilym Lee, Joe Mazello, and Ben, whom I think you already know,” the director gives a knowing little smile as he introduced you to the rest of the cast, all already in full costume.

“I mean, we drove here together,” you agreed, and Ben snorted a laugh from where he was sitting behind the drums. You greeted each of the other actors warmly, smiling, shaking hands – Rami kissed you on the hand, apparently already in full Freddie-Mode – before you got to Ben.

“I like your wig –“

“Don’t be making fun of it,” he warned, straight up, and your hands raised in surrender.

“I wasn’t, I never would,” you tell him, and he gives you a pleased little smile as you admire him. His drumming has really gotten quite good, and as you sit on the sofas on set with the other wives while the other cast members float around, mostly in character, waiting for the cameras to finish setting up, you can’t help but admire him.

“You know Ben?” Joe asks, his interest piqued when he notices you tapping your thigh in time to the drum beats. You pause for a moment, and give a slight nod.

“We both worked with the director on _X-Men Apocalypse_ ,” you began, and Joe’s expression lit up.

“I _knew_ I knew you from somewhere; you were- you were Control, right? The clone one? You don’t…” and he tries to put it into words, looking at your outfit and kind smile, and hums for a moment.

“Look like I’m about to get into a knife fight in an alley?” You fill in, and though Joe laughs, he’s nodding and agreeing, “I don’t know what it is about me that gets me cast as these mean, badass characters, you know? I’m just- I’m just me, you know, I’m not a fight-y person.” As your amusement dies down, however, you look back over to Ben, and when he catches you looking at him, he raises his eyebrows in silent question, “and we’ve been together for about two years.” You add as an aside to Joe.

“ _Oh!_ ”

* * *

You’re hounded for interviews walking the red carpet at the _Stranger Things 2_ premiere; it’s surreal that this is the first of your projects to actually premiere. It’s surreal, so many people are calling your name, it feels like there’s a million flashbulbs going off in your face, but as things get overwhelming, you remember the message Ben had sent that morning.

[ **you’re going to kill it, love, im so proud of you x** ] [ **remember to reach out if it gets too much** ]

 _Remember to reach out if it gets too much_. He knows you well.

“Sweetheart, is everything okay?” Wynona Ryder steps up to you before you even have a chance to look for someone to help; she’s been in the industry for a long time, she must recognize the signs. Swallowing hard, you smile for the cameras all around as you tell her what’s wrong.

“Red carpets tend to overwhelm me, and I just need to ground myself for a moment,” you take a deep breath, and she fixes you with an understanding and caring smile, offering her arm. Gratitude flows through you as you tuck your arm in hers as she leads you down the rest of the red carpet. It’s easy with her beside you, keeping you both moving forward to various interviews and photo opportunities.

“Thank you,” you whisper, approaching the main photo backdrop.

“Don’t even worry about it,” she pets your hand, “you ever need a moment, you come find me, okay?”

Once you’re finally at the end, you let her go and pose with your most winning smile for the sea of photographers, joining a smattering of the rest of the cast. Joe Keery and Gaten Matarazzo both wrap you up in a hug when they see you, the three of you posing for endless photos together to hint at your characters’ friendship, before Gaten heads to the rest of the children, and you and Joe pose together for a few photos, before the whole cast comes together.

* * *

> One of the final shots of the season, Steve drops off Dustin at the Snowball dance, and catches sight of Nancy, his ex, inside and serving punch. There’s a sigh, a mourning for a first love he knows he won’t be getting back, but then, panning over to a darkened corner of the parking lot- _Vanity_ , laying on the back window of her car, smoking, looking up at the sky. Steve gets out of the car.
> 
> “How can you stand those things?” Steve asks, and Vanity lets out a laugh, smoke spilling from her lips in the faint light.
> 
> “ _Mother Harrington_ ,” she greets, sitting up, “Dustin make it in okay?”
> 
> “’Course he did,” Steve snorts, hopping up beside her on the trunk, the pair of them shoulder to shoulder, “kid looks a million bucks, gave him a pep talk; he made this weird growl but I talked him out of it.” He says, smug and proud in equal measure. Vanity puts her cigarette out on the bumper of the car, grinning at him, “what’re you doing out here, I thought you’d be in there working the camera or something?”
> 
> “Jonathan’s got that covered; I’m Max’s ride,” she explained, “I’ve never gone to the Snowball dance before, I’m not gonna start this year.”
> 
> “Not even once?”
> 
> “Never had anyone to go with,” she admits, a little sheepish. At that, the music starts to change, to something slow and romantic, well as romantic as a middle school dance can get, and Steve jumps from the car, and turns sharply, offering his hand.
> 
> “May I have this –“
> 
> “No.”
> 
> “ _Van_ ,” he sighs deeply, hand dropping for a moment, “I’m trying to do a thing here,” and he lifts his hand again in invitation, “now I know the parking lot of the Snowball dance isn’t the same as a well lit gym, but –“
> 
> “ _No_.” But she’s laughing, sliding from the vehicle, and gently lowering his arm, “Steve Harrington, I _do not_ want to dance with you in the parking lot of the Snowball dance,” she told him, but she’s still gently holding his wrist, “I _would_ however, say yes to a burger,” she paused, stepping back and shrugging, “or a movie; would you want to see a movie with me?”
> 
> “A movie?” Steve asks, surprisingly flustered, “with you?” Vanity shoves her hands in her pockets, suddenly quiet, giving a hopeful little nod.
> 
> “We can probably still catch _Terminator_.”
> 
> _Oh,_ the realization occurs to him very suddenly, clear as day on his face, _she’s asking him out_. His expression melts into pleasant surprise.
> 
> “Yeah, I’d love to.”

* * *

“Do you know how hard it is being a high school English teacher, coming back from Autumn break when all your students are talking about how they’d just binged the new _Stranger Things,_ and you have to act like one of your best friends _isn’t_ one of the new regulars?” Jamie bemoans you over coffee when you get back from LA; you just raise your eyebrows at him.

“Why wouldn’t you tell them?”

“Because it feels like I’m bragging, and as their teacher, that feels… I don’t know, it feels wrong,” he sighs, and takes a long sip, “it would be different if I was like, telling them that you were coming to speak with them about something, but it just seems like I’d be showing you off if it didn’t fit with the curriculum.”

“Any of your classes currently studying Shakespeare?” You asked pointedly, and Jamie’s entire face lit up like a Christmas tree, as if remembering the _years_ of stage experience you also have.

“My sixth form kids are currently doing Richard the Third!”

“Get the paperwork together, I’m happy to come have a chat with your classes.”

* * *

With Ben’s arm around you on set, you feel like everything’s right with the world.

“Have I told you have absolutely gorgeous you look right now?” He murmured in your ear, voice low enough that no-one else could hear, all full of heady promise. You sighed soft and pleased, tilting your head until your lips were mere inches from his.

“Tell me again,” you smiled, licking your lips as your gaze caught his, pupils blown wide and dark.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he mutters again, pulling you just a little closer, and you tucked up against him, leaving no space between the two of you, kissing him quickly. You’re on the Garden Lodge set, surrounded by the main cast members and countless extras, as the scene is reset.

“Lovebirds,” the director calls with the barest hint of annoyance, and you and Ben immediately look to him, flustered, as if caught red-handed. The rest of the cast look like they’re trying to hide their laughter, “don’t forget you’re meant to be annoyed during all of this.” And you nod adamantly but rest your head on Ben’s shoulder; he taps your shoulder once, which makes you smile. You reach down and draw a check mark against his thigh.

“Love you,” he murmurs before he takes a sip of prop champagne to hide his smile as the director calls action at the other end of the set with Rami. You give Ben’s thigh a squeeze.

“Love you too.”

* * *

Highschool kids are fucking savages.

“Are you going to be in the next X-Men movie?”

“Connor, that’s not-“ Jamie tries, but you straighten your posture, happy to answer.

“Yes I am!”

“Why?”

“ _Connor, what the fuck?_ ” One of the kid’s friends hisses and Jamie sighs deeply, reminding her not to use that kind of language. You, however, gave a bemused look to the kid, Connor.

“What do you mean?”

He seems to have realized his mistake, and is quick to backtrack, stuttering that he thought your character wasn’t coming back because the Horsemen and Apocalypse were no more. You kindly explain that there’s more to your character than being a henchman. He nods sagely.

At the end of the class, like with all of the other classes you’d attended throughout the day, you answered a rapid-fire round of questions about anything, not just Shakespeare and theater related.

“Are you really dating the guy who plays Steve Harrington?” One girl calls, referencing a rumor you’d seen circulating a few days ago; the same had been said about you and Tye several months ago, but both were easy to ignore. The girl, Keely, quickly silenced by her friend, who, embarrassed, informs her that you’re dating Angel from Apocalypse; “wait, the blonde one?” The first girl stage whispers, turning red. Her friend nods, and the girl mutters a quick apology.

“Are the _Stranger Things_ kids nice?”

“Incredibly!”

“How old are you?”

“Almost twenty-two.”

“Oh, shit that’s younger than I was expecting –“

“Rian, language please.” Jamie calls.

“Sorry, Mr Fulleur-Keene.”

“How’d you become friends with Mr Fulleur-Keene?”

“I was in a play with his husband when we were younger.”

“What’s been your favourite movie to be in?”

“ _X-Men Apocalypse_ ,” it’s always your answer whenever anyone asks.

* * *

“Y/N can you come hang out with us on set again?” Joe Mazzello calling you is not a surprise; the main four _BoRhap_ cast members have gotten very close, to the point where you’d had them over for dinner at you and Bens’ flat last time you were in town.

“Aw, Joe do you miss me?” You teased.

“Of course, if I was not a firm believe of bros-before-those-who-are-not-bros, I would have tried to steal you in an instant,” he says, with so much faux seriousness that it’s clear he’s making a joke. Ben still makes a mildly offended noise in the background.

“And if I didn’t have the most wonderful boyfriend in the world,” you said, matching his tone, “I’d still chose Rami.”

“ _Ouch_ ,” Joe gasps, and you’re guessing you’re on speaker phone judging by the way you can hear Gwil and Ben laugh, and Rami call out a very pointed _‘thank you_ ’ in the background, much to Joe’s fake annoyance, “but _yes_ , we all miss you, but Ben’s moping-“

“I am _not_ moping!” Ben crows in the background, his laughter immediately dying down, “I don’t-“

“He actually doesn’t mope,” you agree, and Joe makes a noise in the back of his throat, which you ignore, “you know we _live together_ , right? I’ll see him tonight, I doubt he’s moping.”

“Joe’s the one who’s moping!” Ben calls, and you hear them bickering for a few moments, and then a loud clatter.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” it’s Gwilym’s gentle welsh amusement that greets you, amid scuffling sounds.

“It’s no worry, I’m free today anyways; how long are you guys filming for, or do you wanna all just get dinner after?”

“Dinner would be great, love,” Ben sounds strained when he shouts it, and Gwil reiterates to make sure you’d heard it. When you’re in town, dinner with the BoRhap boys is a very common occurrence, and one you look forward to.

* * *

“We’re so glad you could come on board, you got the pages we sent out last week, right?” _Venom_ ’s assistant director is chattering away to you while you’re sitting patiently in the makeup chair. You make a noise that indicates that you did while the makeup artist is applying your painfully familiar prosthetics. “Just a few little flashback scenes, a little bit of B-roll, a nice Easter Egg, you know? Easy as.”

All the work you’d done with your movement coach for _Riot Control_ feels like it’s paid off tenfold as you walk with an uneven, inhuman gait, expression black, twitching, offputting. If _Riot Control_ was your character trying to hold herself together, then the flashbacks in _Venom_ are the moments where she loses control, where _Riot_ fully takes over.

There’s something feral, and very wrong with _Control_ here, something that can’t be shown in a PG-13 X-Men film. You think you like this version of her more, just a little bit. She is ugly and rotting and using this Symbiote for his power, just as he is using her.

When you scream, you throw your all into it, and the very first time the entire crew is _dead silent_ behind the camera. It’s meant to be a flashback to when you first merge with the Symbiote, and the pain of it takes you by surprise, the scream causing the Symbiote pain, which then causes it to twitch and convulse inside you, a feedback loop of sound and pain, and your legs buckle and you fall to the floor, twitching.

The director calls cut with you gasping and shaking and grinning on the floor of the set, feeling a familiar rush of power that came with blowing people’s expectations out of the water.

“ _Damn_ ,” an assistant marvels under their breath, voicing the thought they all seemed to be having.

* * *

You do a screen test for a film with the code name _TrIXie,_ but you have very little idea what it was about. Everything for it was very _hush-hush_ , just like it was for your screen test for _Apocalypse_.

* * *

There’s several different premieres for _Ready Player One_ within the space of a few weeks, all with a different, flashy look for you to wear.

“Nineteen-eighty-eight’s _Beetlejuice_! Who invited you?” Tye announced, grinning from ear to ear at the sight of your striped blazer, though he hugs you in greeting. You take it in stride, however, giving him a faux pitying look.

“Whoever made the guest list really should have checked it, how’d an old coat rack make it all the way from the dumpster?” you tell him sweetly, to which his expression sours, and he looks down at the dressed down, brown sweater and black slacks he’d been put in; neither of you looked _bad_ , obviously, it was habit more than anything else. All of you had been told not to overdo your looks for the South by Southwest red carpet, which you were more than happy to comply with. Of course, after a moment you both concede with genuine compliments, so excited to see the product of all your hard work on the big screen.

* * *

“We should go somewhere,” Ben muses in the early hours of the morning, all warm and soft in the afterglow, “a holiday.”

“Where would we go?” You ask around a yawn, fingers carding through his hair.

“Anywhere; Australia, Alaska, Cairo? Somewhere we’ve never been.”

“ _Cairo_ ,” you ponder softly, “we did spend a good deal of time pretending to be there, would be nice to actually see it in person,” tugging his hair, you hear his stifled, breathy groan and grin, “when were you thinking of going?”

“When were you free?”

You pause, considering, and realise that the next few months are the only time you and Ben will have free until some time in 2019, probably. You’re in talks with whatever that _TrIXie_ project is, _Stranger Things_ Season 3 is going into production in just a month, and there’s apparently massive reshoots scheduled for _Riot Control_ starting in August.

“Next week?”

* * *

Perhaps he’d intended for the two of you to visit Cairo all along, you realise looking at him with wide-eyed disbelief as he offers you a ring, and a promise across a candle-lit dinner. It’s quiet, it’s honest, it’s _you mean the world to me_ , and _there’s no-one else in the world who makes me half as happy or half as proud as you do_.

The sun is staining the sky lilac and pink and gold where it’s hiding, quickly setting beneath the pyramids, haloing them in light. Maybe you’re reading more symbolism into it than you should, but you’d lost him once here, in spirit, on film, and now he’s brought you back, for the first time, to promise that’ll never happen again.

You’re looking at the ring, watching it catch the light as you let this all wash over you. He’s waiting, hopeful beyond anything else.

“Me?” The word escapes you as tears of joy begin to cloud your vision. The laugh he gives is quiet, cathartic, and he looks like he’s on the edge of a sarcastic quip, but then you’re smiling, and the tears begin to spill as you clutch your hands to your chest, and his heart melts.

“ _You_.”

You’re nodding, already you’re nodding, _yes of course absolutely_ , spilling from you in a joyous rush as you offer your shaking hand, and he gets up, his hands warm on yours as he slides the ring on your finger. It fits perfectly. You stand to meet him, kiss him, let yourself get wrapped up in his embrace, laughing and crying and _brimming_ with delight.

* * *

“Whatever you want to say, keep it to yourself,” Joe Keery warns you the first time you see him in his _Scoops Ahoy_ costume during the fitting for _Stranger Things 3_. You’re trying very desperately to repress a smile, but it’s not working.

“But I like your little chicken legs,” you teased him, though he didn’t seem nearly as amused. The tables turn, however, once you’re called over by the head of costume design, hands you a red and gold movie attendant uniform. He, very kindly, doesn’t laugh at the little hat they put you in.

“Hey, can I,” you hesitate, when talking to the head of costuming, spinning the ring on your left hand, “do you think I could wear this on a chain around my neck? For the show? I’d tuck it in, but I just… I’d like to have it on me.” She gives you a warm, knowing smile, nods, and gets you a chain.

This season starts a month into Summer Break, and your character, Vanity, has just gotten back from a month-long stay at a last-chance camp for young delinquents. Her relationship with Steve still isn’t exactly public knowledge, since they’re both young and kind of dumb, trying to uphold their own reputations. The only people who know are the kids, Nancy, and Jonathan. And honestly, who else would believe either of them?

Her parents have gotten her a job at the Starcourt movie theater to try and teach her responsibility, though it’s success is still yet to be proven. When she’s not working, she’s bothering Steve at his new job at the _Scoops Ahoy Ice-cream Parlor_ , where she’s quietly jealous of his friendship with Robin, who is cool and funny and who Vanity’s quietly worried has a crush on her secret boyfriend.

“ _Ambrose_!” It’s your first scene of the second season, and Gaten, as Dustin, calls for your character, delighted. You’d been playing at being in a mood, as if on a break from a job you hated, though you perked up at the sound of his voice.

“Dustin! Dude!” You crowed, wrapping the kid up in a hug as he scrambled from his seat beside Joe, in his Scoops Ahoy uniform, “how was Camp? Did you _open your imagination door?_ ” You grinned, putting on a voice to make the concept sound mystical.

“ _Duh_! And I got a girlfriend!” He practically preened, puffing out his chest, which was a rather sweet sight.

“You gonna stand there all day, _Ambrose_?” Joe asks with a slight smirk, playing it cool, his voice going deadpan, “or are you gonna _set sail on this ocean of flavor_?”

You know you have some blocking here, you have to walk to the counter and have an interaction with Maya, playing the new girl, Robin, but Joe’s dead-eyed stare is making it hard to not laugh. It becomes a staring contest where you’re both trying very hard not to break, and in the end, you can’t help but crack up laughing, as do the rest of the cast around you. It’s such a stupid line, you love it.

Cut, reset, another take.

“You gonna stand there all day, _Ambrose_ , or are you gonna _set sail on this ocean of flavor_?”

This time you keep it together, giving him a sarcastic smile, and turn on your heel towards the counter.

“Aren’t you the girl who almost burned down the science department?” Maya asks, and you lean your elbow on the counter, resting your chin on your hand as you look at her with a sharp little smile.

“ _Almost_ ,” you agree, and you see the surprised, and slightly flustered reaction she gives, as the two of you had worked out in rehearsals, and you order your ice-cream.

* * *

[ID: @yourtwittername retweeted two tweets from @JamieFK8:

MR Jamie Fuller-Keene 🌈✨📚: _okay can @SHO_Shameless please cast my dear friend @yourtwittername ? because she’s talented as hell and I need her to tell @cameronmonaghan he looks like my husband. That’s not a joke._ (Attached is two photos, one from Cameron Monaghan’s Instagram, the actor is posing for a magazine in a floral button-down shirt. The second is one of Andrew, blurry, yawning, and hair a mess over morning coffee, still wearing his pyjamas.)

MR Jamie Fuller-Keene 🌈✨📚: _oh god never let me tweet hung over again @yourtwittername how dare u retweet me knowing andy’s going to fillet me for this_ 😅 😅 😅

You replied to the second tweet.

Y/N Y/L/N ☑️: _because you’re not wrong lmao_

End ID]

* * *

“I feel like I’m seeing you every two weeks now,” you’re on stage at the Teen Choice Awards with Tye, playing at being annoyed during your acceptance speech for _Best Liplock._ You’ve each got your arm around a surfboard that represents the award, standing awkwardly beside one another.

“Yeah, I was told after the movie I never had to see you again,” he played along, and you cleared your throat, leaning into the microphone.

“I mean… there’s still- we are still doing another X-Men movie together,” you reminded him, and he conceded on that point.

“But I don’t have to kiss you in that one,” he reminded, “it’s my favourite part so far.”

“Well then it’s agreed, let’s never do it again,” and you reach out with your free hand, as if to shake it, though it was a bit you’d both planned, pulling each other in for a big, dramatic show-kiss as the crowd screamed around you. Stepping back, you’re both laughing and a little flustered, before heading off stage while the next musical act is introduced.

* * *

“What’s the chain mean?” Joe Keery asks between takes, sitting in the back room of the _Scoops_ shop. Gaten’s getting notes, and Maya’s kicking the wall, sitting opposite you both.

“Huh?” It takes you a minute to process, before the instinctual, bashful smile spreads across your lips, “oh, it’s kind of stupid and sappy,” you murmur, and he raises his eyebrows, both confused and intrigued, and you pull the chain out from where it had been tucked beneath your costume, with only the barest glint of it visible by your collar, “it’s not actually a character thing,” you pause to consider, “I mean it is; in my mind it’s something dumb, like a nail from Steve’s bat from last year that she bent into a circle.”

“That’s actually kind of cute,” Joe gives a fond grin, knocking his shoulder against yours, but you’re not done, and finally you pull the ring out too.

“But it’s actually my engagement ring,” you pause, dropping your gaze to where you were fiddling with the simple little ring, “like, my actual real-life engagement ring; I’m not allowed to wear it on my hand, but I didn’t want to take it off.”

“Oh, shit dude, for real?” He asks softly, eyes going wide. You nod, giving a toothy, pleased smile in return, “Ben, right?” Another nod from you, “that’s so fantastic, congratulations!” And he gives you a side hug. Neither of you can shake your weirdly proud and sunny aura for the rest of the shoot. You haven’t told many people, trying to keep your private life relatively private, but it feels nice to have someone share in your happiness like this.

* * *

“You’re in the new _Star Wars_ movie?!” Alexandra is the first to call you, waking you up at six in the morning after you’d wrapped on a scene only three hours before.

“I’m _what_?” You asked groggily, eyes barely open as you held the phone to your ear.

“It’s all over Twitter!”

At least now you knew what the _TrIXie_ projectwas.

According to the email from your manager that you’d received last night but hadn’t looked at, your character was named Zorii Bliss, an old acquaintance of Poe Dameron’s, which means you’d be seeing more of Oscar Isaac. You’d be more excited in a few hours; for now, you put your phone on airplane mode and went back to sleep.

* * *

“So you’re trying to tell me that you’re dating the girl who sets fires for fun? _You_? Mister _Hair_ , Mister _Perfect?_ ” Maya snorted a laugh, leaning on the table in the back set, surrounded by cameras as she and Joe worked through a scene for episode four together, “you know she’s too cool for you, right?” She smirks.

“Why would you say that?” Joe sighs, frowning.

“You know, between the Russian conspiracy and this, I believe the Russian thing more.” She announces, ignoring him.

You’re not on set for that scene, you’re actually not on set for a lot of your favorite scenes this season, but you’re so grateful you still get to work with Maya and Joe as much as you do. The way your characters interact is so _fascinating,_ and hearbreaking in the end, when all this time, while your character had been so terrified of losing Steve to Robin, it turns out that she had been pining after you this whole time; its not that she didn’t believe that Vanity and Steve were dating, it’s that she didn’t _want_ to believe it.

Yet again, Steve Harrington, King of Hawkins High, gets everything she wants, everything she’s never allowed to admit she wants.

* * *

“ _Merissa’s kind of blowing up on TikTok_.”

“Andrew, you’re not allowed to just say made-up words at me like I’ll understand what they mean.”

“ _Come on, you know what TikTok is, don’t you_?”

“Kind of, how do _you_ know what it is?”

“ _The teens in my show_ –“

“You sound _so old_ , dude.”

“- _are all singing_ Hit or Miss _at each other, and Jamie comes home whistling this song about – listen I don’t know who Tracer is, but someone wants to be Tracer - believe me, everything I learned about it, I learned against my will,_ except _-_!”

“Except?”

“ _Merissa’s got half a million followers_.”

* * *

A lot of your scenes in the middle episodes are with Priya and Gaten, Erika and Dustin that is, trying to rescue Steve and Robin from the underground Russian bunker that they’d found themselves caught in.

Gaten bursts into the room where Joe and Maya have been tied up, wielding a stun baton like a pro, frying the actor in the lab coat that had been looming over the pair, who does a convincing impression of being cooked from the inside out as he drops to the ground. On the other hand, Maya and Joe are doing an incredible job of acting completely out of their minds.

“Henderson! That’s just crazy, I was just talking about you!” Joe slurs, grinning at Gaten as he undoes the ties around his wrists.

“Vanity! Miss Vanity, you guys ‘ve come to save us!” Maya sings amid laughter, and you kneel down in front of her, gentle and attentive as you work at undoing her ties too, and Gaten tells them to get ready to run, and the scene cuts. There’s something in the air that’s making Maya and Joe giggly, but it adds to the scene, so they manage to make it through most takes without too much trouble. There’s a take where Maya lifts her joined wrists to gently touch your cheek, which you think is kind of sweet, even though your character’s been oblivious to her hints the entire time.

Episode seven, however, is your favourite to film.

“Vanny, _Vanny, hey_ ,” Joe’s got his head in your lap where he’d fallen, and he’d seemed to forget about you while he was being interrogated by Gaten. Now, however, he was reaching up and none too gently patting your face, “Vanny, hey if we’re going to the food court, come get- come get food with me. A real live date.”

“In the food court while you’re drugged and beaten bloody?” You asked, deadpan, refusing to break when he sticks his fingers up your nose. Joe laughs loud at his own antics, as it’s written in the script.

“Awe, were you worried about me?” He teased, before struggling to sit up, digging his elbow into your thigh.

“ _Ow, motherfucker- !_ ” You yelped, and Joe immediately broke to apologise, getting off of you, and you waived him off, just rubbing the sudden sore spot as they reset from your line.

This time, when he sits up, he’s careful not to injure you before delivering his next triumphant line to Maya.

“I told you she wasn’t too cool for me!”

“Oh, dude, she _definitely is_ ,” Maya laughed loudly, leaning back in her squat until she was propped up against the wall. When Joe turns, his eyes wide and almost comically sad, you fight not to laugh yourself. It’s difficult to look as tender as the director wants when Joe’s actively trying to make you laugh.

“You’re not too cool for me, are you?” He sounds a little desperate, which goes a ways to helping you fight your urge to laugh. In the moment, you reach up to where you can feel your ring pressed against your chest beneath your costume, and think of the boy waiting for you back home to get you to the emotional place you need to be.

“I –“ you cut yourself off, tone too gentle, too raw, too honest; your character can’t tell him she loves him _here_ , “definitely am,” you concede, and his expression falls, so you reach out, running your thumb gently over the prosthetic that makes his cheek look swollen, “I’m totally kidding, babe.” And he leans back against you, into your arms, this time on purpose. It’s a disgustingly cute moment. The director calls cut.

* * *

“I miss you so fucking much, I wish you were here,” you spend more nights than you can count with your phone to your ear, wishing Ben was actually beside you. He’d come to visit you a few times on set, in the months you’d been in America, but the visits always felt too short. Now, in Canada, just days away from starting reshoots for _Riot Control_ , he feels further away than ever.

“ _I know, babe, I know_ ,” he said softly, and you can hear the ache in his voice. Your gaze drifts to the sky, to the stars glittering overhead, and you play with your ring absentmindedly, “ _I could come see you, it’d be nice to see the gang again too.”_

“Aren’t you headed it Italy in a week?” You ask, and a white-hot stab of pride flares through you, knowing that he was going to be filming for a Michael Bay movie.

“ _I could leave tomorrow and come visit you before I go there,_ ” he offered, and _oh_ how you wanted to say yes, but you didn’t want to burn him out too badly.

“We’ll see each other soon, when I have a few days free, or you have a few days free, not _immediately_ before we’re both starting shoots,” you laugh, but your heart isn’t in it, and for a moment, all you can do is sigh, your eyes closed, curling in on yourself as if to try and alleviate the loneliness.

“ _I miss you_ ,” he murmurs, and, like a flash, you have words running through your mind, though you can’t _quite_ connect which specific song you’re thinking of.

“Which- which _Queen_ song is the one with _I’m happy at home_ in it?” You ask softly, and you hear his soft chuckle on the other end of the line.

“ _You’re My Best Friend_.” His tone is knowing and softly fond; he knows what you mean, what you’re implying with the song alone, and he hopes you know that he feels it too. The distance feels like lightyears.

“ _Ooh, you make me live~_ ” you sing softly, now that you’ve got the tune in your mind, and he hums along to, for a few bars, even as your voice grows quiet, “I miss you too, _fuck_ I wish you were here.” And he seems to pick up on the notes of desperation in your voice, because his answer shifts the tone of the conversation entirely, to something playful.

“ _And what would we be doing if I was there_?” You can hear him smirking now, and can feel yourself already growing warm; she shift to more of a sitting position against the headboard.

“If you were right here beside me? In this bed?”

“ _Yeah, tell me what we’d be doing.”_

Your mouth goes dry, but it’s been a long time since you’ve been shy with Ben, and you’re not going to restart now; you let yourself grin, and get settled against the pillows.

* * *

The reshoots for _Riot Control_ are _intense_.

Thanks to a corporate deal between Disney and Fox which resulted in Fox unfortunately joining the megacorporation, this film is officially going to be the last X-Men movie in this canon, which means no _Dark Phoenix_ , and _Riot Control_ can’t leave things open ended.

Which turns out to mean that Control is going to die.

For some reason, it stings.

Some scenes need to be moved and changed to round out the plot, some characterization reworked and redeveloped, and most importantly, that final scene between Control and Jean needs to change drastically.

It’s interesting to watch how it changes, how Jean, who had been so adamant during the original cut of the film that despite everything Control had done, everyone she’d hurt, that she was able to be saved, to now, thanks to the reshoots, be conflicted, feel Scott’s pain for his brother, and the pain Control inflicts, and think that Charles’ ideology of ‘ _no-one is ever truly gone_ ’ might not be correct.

Which makes it all the more painful at the end, because finally she sees that Control is not beyond help, but it’s too late for Control to see that, so Control gives herself up in favour of causing anyone any more pain.

“ _We can help you_ ,” once again, you and Sophie are crying in each other’s arms, standing on a pile of debris in front of a set of green screens, “ _please_ ,” she begs, “ _I know there’s hope somewhere deep inside of you, I know_ –“

“ _You know so much_ ,” your voice cracks, and you take her hands where they’re holding your face, and you press them harder to your cheeks, you’re looking at her like you know the hurt she’s feeling, like you know you’re the cause of it, but you can’t stop yourself; her expression is _horrified_ as she realizes what you’re doing, “ _and yet you still think everyone deserves to be saved._ ”

“ _Cassidy, don’t do this –_ “ she struggles, as if trying to pull out of your grip, but there’s lights going off around you, cameras close to your face, which is free from prosthetics for the first and only time in the film. You’d already done this scene a million times with the prosthetics and contacts, now for the final takes without.

And you quickly step out of the scene when the director gives the signal, and Jean screams up at the sky, like a little part of your spirit is momentarily imbued within her, reaching up, trying to catch the last CGI embers of you that will be added in post; it occurs to you that a lot of people end up as ashes around Jean. 

“How do you keep doing this?” Sophie half laughs once cut is called again, her voice raspy from screaming.

“My blood is fifty percent lemon-honey tea,” you answer with a snort, and she nods, as if seriously considering getting a cup for herself. Someone hands her a waterbottle, and she takes the time to pat the tears from her cheeks before taking a sip. An assistant comes to touch up both your makeup.

* * *

You catch Alexandra watching some of Merissa’s TikToks in between takes, and just grinning like a fool, all sappy sighs and gentle smiles. You don’t say anything, but it warms your heart. When you finally cave and download the app, she’s the first person you follow. She’s got close to a million followers now, and as you scroll further down, you see Alexandra in more than a few of her videos, in the background.

You realise you don’t recognize the background; it wasn’t the place you’d helped her move into a while ago, but you find a video captioned _‘Moving Day_ ’ from about a month ago, set to Dolly Parton’s _9 to 5,_ and it’s a montage of herself and Alex moving all of her things into an apartment that’s already partially furnished and decorated.

 _Alex’s apartment_.

Merissa’s making something of herself, you soon discover; she’s working for Buzzfeed, has been in a few of their videos, and is putting her journalism degree to arguably good use. A bittersweet pride flares in your chest when you realise that you’ve both been so busy that you hadn’t even know about all the changes in her life.

You invite her to set, to catch up and hang out, and thankfully, she says yes.

* * *

Oscar wraps you up in a bear hug the first time you see him in rehearsals for _Star Wars_. He tells you it’s been too long and you’re quick to agree; you hadn’t realized how much you’d missed him until you see him again.

“Congratulations, by the way,” he adds, and you’re confused for all of five seconds before he gestures to your ring that you’d been spinning absentmindedly. Your expression lights up, and you instinctively look at it, Ben’s smile bright in your mind.

“Thanks! It’s Ben’s!” You say, all chipper and awkward, “I mean- he gave it to me, I – _we –“_ you try and correct, but Oscar’s expression melts, and he doesn’t seem to mind your excited word vomit.

“Ah, jeez, you guys were always so cute, I’m so glad it’s still going well!”

He’s quick to introduce you to the rest of the cast, who are all incredibly kind and charming in their own right, and with Oscar’s seal of approval, they’re quick to treat you like an old friend.

For how little you’re actually in the film, there’s certainly still a lot of training to undertake, including a short, but stylized set of blows traded with Daisy Ridley, and you’re never one to complain about getting your ass kicked by someone pretty. It’s kind of becoming a habit.

It is, however, a little strange at first, to think about flirting with Oscar. Three years ago, he was playing your weird, pseudo-parental-slash-god figure, and now the two of you had a torrid romantic past that obviously ended badly. Not badly enough to stop him flirting with you, of course, Poe Dameron was like that. But still, at first it was weird.

It doesn’t take long to compartmentalize; if you can spend a year alternating between threatening to kick Tye’s ass and aggressively making out with him for cameras, you can flirt with Oscar Isaac. Who, on a completely unrelated note, has only gotten more handsome in the years since you’ve seen him in person.

* * *

“Benjamin that photo of you on top of that fancy dome building makes me both afraid for you, and feel like I want to do unholy things to you,” is how you open the phone call to your fiancé only five minutes after he sends you a photo from the set of _6 Underground_.

“ _Why are you whispering? Where are you?_ ” He laughs at the other end of the line, and yet again you curse your misaligned schedules; while _Star Wars IX_ is filming in England, Ben’s currently in Italy, standing on top of buildings and looking absolutely gorgeous.

“ _I stepped out of wardrobe for the moment_ ,” you admitted. At that, Ben huffed a laugh, following it with a contented sigh, calling you cute.

“When can I come see you? Are you free next weekend? Italy’s not that far.”

“ _I’ll be back in just a few weeks, BoRhap premiere, remember? Not long now.”_ His voice was warm and calm, softly reassuring. You took a deep breath. Someone’s calling you back to wardrobe, but as you consider the possibility of seeing him again soon, you’re too giddy to mind.

“ _Okay_ ,” you breathe, “I’ve got to go, just wanted to say you look fine as fuck.”

“ _Thank you, babe, I appreciate it; ‘love you, talk to you soon_.”

* * *

“Hey, thank you so much for coming out to brunch,” Andrew started one Wednesday morning, holding Jamie’s hand on the table, their fingers linked. You look between them suspiciously, putting down your bag. It looks like an interview setup. It looks like they have news.

“What’s the ulterior motive?” You ask, sitting across from them. They share a look of thinly veiled excitement. Jamie raises their joined hands, kissing Andrew’s knuckles; the two of them appear to have a silent conversation using only their eyebrows.

“We didn’t want to tell you over the phone,” Andrew finally says, slowly, and he looks back at you. Jamie’s almost bouncing in his seat, “we got approved for adoption.”

“Oh my god,” you gasp, eyes going wide, and then, as what he’s said takes a moment to sink in, you stand abruptly, your chair clattering to the floor as you reach over the table to hug them both tightly, “ _oh my god!_ Guys, _congratulations!_ ”

* * *

You hold a fancy prop pistol to Oscar’s head and spit insults at him through a visor. What you’d originally worried about – your shared history as actors – actually ended up helping your characterization. There’s a bit of _Control_ in how you play Zorii, you realise, as during rehearsals, for the first time you meet him, instead of saying the scripted line for the run through, you say-

“Hey, remember that time you asked me to help take over the world and instead died in front of me? What was that about?”

Oscar, who hadn’t been expecting that at all, chokes out a laugh, eyes wide, and it becomes something of an inside joke, that all of Zorii’s anger at Poe was merely _Control’s_ anger at _Apocalypse_ , reincarnated. It actually helped _a lot_ with your motivations, having something you could relate to, to help ground your emotions.

Oscar doesn’t seem concerned for you like he had during _Apocalypse_. When you ask him about it, he gives a slight shrug, and a fond smile.

“You seem more secure; you’ve grown into yourself.”

* * *

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you wait,” you say in a flustered rush, climbing into the limousine where Ben had been waiting in the garage of the hotel where you were both getting ready for the Bohemian Rhapsody premiere.

“No need to worry, love, we’ve still got plenty of time,” he assured as you closed the door, “you look bloody stunning, by the way,” and when you turn to him, finally, you beam, before you can take in his appearance. Your mouth goes dry all of a sudden, and Ben’s smile widens, “yes?”

“ _God damn it, Ben_ ,” you breathe, and he knows that tone all too well, pressing a button on the door handle that would roll up the partition between the driver and the back.

“You like it?”

“Tell me you get to keep that- _fuck_ ,” you lick your lips and finally look back to his face. He’s smirking like he knows exactly how hot he is, “you just keep wearing all black and thinking you can get away with it.”

“Love, I need you to know that I am _barely_ restraining myself; you are not the only one who’s a fan of what they see.”

“Do not tempt me, Ben,” you warn pressing yourself to his side, hand on his chest, on that sheer fucking back shirt that has you very vividly and precisely thinking about how scratch marks would show up underneath. His heartbeat is quick beneath your palm. His lips, his damn smug smile, is only inches from yours.

“I wouldn’t want to ruin your makeup,” he murmurs. You press your nails against his chest and his smile widens. _Tease_.

It’s with very deliberate movements that you sit back, open your purse, and remove a single tissue, carefully wiping off your lipstick, informing him in as much of a neutral tone as you can muster, that you’re able to reapply lipstick if necessary. Ben goes to laugh, but you’ve practically launched yourself at him, kissing him within an inch of his life, practically in his lap in the back of this limousine for the entire ride to the premiere.

You let Ben leave first, soaking up the attention from the photographers waiting, while you reapplied your lipstick and straightened your dress.

When you exit the limousine, to much less fanfare, seeing as you were simply a cameo, Joe is the first to spot you from where the main four men are getting photos together; he gives you the most shiteating grin and you fight the urge not to stick your tongue out at him.

Tomorrow there will be photos from the red carpet, of you with the cast, with Ben, with Roger Taylor and Brian May. Tomorrow the world will see you and Ben, toe to toe on the purple carpet as you fix his collar, and they’ll see the ring on your finger, and the love in both your eyes, and finally put two and two together. Tomorrow you won’t even care.

 _Bohemian Rhapsody_ leaves you breathless, leaves you on the verge of tears in the theater as you realise that this may just change everything. You’re bursting at the seams with pride, speechless as the credits roll, in awe of your fiancé as everyone around you is cheering and congratulating each other. You’re quiet, but Ben can read the awe on your face, and doesn’t push you for comment with everyone around him chattering excitedly.

There’s an afterparty, and on the way there, you finally speak. It’s just the two of you in the car again, his hand on yours, and your looking at your linked fingers, and the ring gleaming on your finger. He follows your gaze and gives your hand a squeeze, finally asking what you thought of it.

“How did I ever get so lucky as to meet someone as talented and incredible as you?”

“Y/N…” He says softly, his expression surprisingly vulnerable when you reach up and touch his cheek, fingertips brushing his soft skin, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear. Slowly, you move in, gaze roaming his face, committing every detail of this moment, of his smile and adoration-filled expression to your memory.

“Ben, you’re the love of my life,” you breathe, gaze locked with his, and _holy shit you really mean it._ Of course you mean it, but you’ve never considered how far reaching that statement was, how desperately and honestly you wanted him to know. He kisses you in answer, urgent and warm, his free hand cupping your cheek and bringing you closer. _I know_ , the kiss says.

“ _I’m so proud of you_ ,” the words bubble out, and there’s tears of joy, of _euphoria_ in your eyes when you pull away for a moment, and he’s grinning so _wide_ so proud, and _I’m in love, I love him, I love him, I love him,_ rings in your mind like a mantra, on repeat.

* * *

If someone had asked you, all the way back in 2015, before _Apocalypse_ , before any of it had even begun, where you saw yourself in the next five years, there’s no way in hell you could have anticipated any of this.

Not even a little bit.

Not the opportunities, not the awards, not the friends, and certainly not Ben.

The idea of a future where you wake up to his smile, golden in the morning light, that was unthinkable at the start. There’s no way you would have foreseen discussing which _Queen_ song to dance to at your wedding – _Your My Best Friend_ and _Somebody to Love_ are top contenders.

You take each other to movie premieres, and award shows, and finally get to take a few months off together. You travel Europe, see sights, let yourselves breathe, bask in the life you’ve built together before you get back to your busy reality.

BoRhap wins SAG Awards, wins Oscars, wins more than the cast and crew had ever anticipated; it’s a _moment_ in time and culture, one that your fiancé is at the epicenter of, and you know you’ll never get tired of seeing him succeed, seeing him _flourish_.

Andrew and Jamie’s daughter Katherine, who prefers Kitty, is four, and calls you and Ben _Auntie_ and _Uncle_ , and it melts your heart every time. It makes you feel all warm and soft to see two of your best friends doting so much on this little girl who’s quickly come to love them, and you realise that perhaps you and Ben should have a serious conversation about kid; whether or not you personally want them is still up for debate, but it’s still a conversation that needs to be had.

When you win the Teen Choice Award for _Best Villain – Female_ for _Riot Control_ , Merissa’s the one who presents the award, as an influencer in her own right, and you burst into tears when you see the pride in her eyes. Something about this, above the Ensemble Emmy you win for _Stranger Things_ , and the surprising SAG Award nomination the ensemble gets for _Riot Control_ , this Teen Choice Award, as handed to you by your oldest friend, smiling as you both realise just how far you’ve come, it means the most.

And after, Ben will wrap you up in his embrace, brimming with pride and _that’s my girl_ , murmured against your skin, and you can feel his smile in his kiss, in his words, in the reverential way he touches you.

In 2015, you’d been so scared to finally face the boy you’d quietly loved for so long.

Today, you can’t wait to marry him.


End file.
